


the pantheon, broken

by stareintospace



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Basically: things happen and I try my best not to completely rip off PJO in the process, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, bc Tommy speaks in this lmao, everyone will show up at one point or another, plus Tubbo!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stareintospace/pseuds/stareintospace
Summary: Tom has never had a family, a home, or a consistent streak on Snapchat (none of which are for a lack of trying). With no past to guide him and no future in sight, he’s almost given up hope that anything will ever break the cycle of loneliness. He will always feel like an outsider looking in.So, what happens the forgotten past finally finds him again and completely destroys any notion that Tom is alone, unwanted, or even human?_____________________________________Wherein Tommy is a dirty crime boy with amnesia and a complicated history, SBI are going feral while searching for their missing godling, Tubbo still likes bees, and the world as we know it may be on the brink of destruction.Oh, and it appears that something might be wrong with Dream.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 266
Kudos: 1148
Collections: MCYT Fic Rec, The Reasons For My Insomnia





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! I stumbled across the Dream SMP around September and am now pretty invested in the goings-on of this funky little server. I’ve also been so impressed and inspired by all of the cool fics floating around recently, so I decided to try and give this story a go! I’ll try my best to make it interesting, although my creative writing skills are def a bit rusty :)

_It was dark._

_Where ever he was, it was dark and silent. He blinked once, twice, but nothing changed. His body felt heavy, his eyelids slow to slide shut and open again, and his thoughts were fuzzy, vague, ephemeral._

_There was nothing, and he felt nothing, and he saw nothing, and nothing stared back from the endless black void that he floated in, aimless and untethered._

_No. That’s not right. He wasn’t drifting._

_He was falling._

_At this sudden realization, he became slightly more aware of the slight breeze pushing back against his descent, sending blond strands of hair whipping in and out of his field of vision and causing the bright red fabric of his robes to gently flutter and twist around his limp form._

_Yes, he was falling; but where exactly was he falling from?_

_He tried to remember (he wanted to remember, he needed to remember, he **had** to remember) but his mind was too unfocused. In his dazed state, every thought seemed to slip between his fingers just as he latched onto it. Still, even as his descent continued and the static sparking on the fringes of his consciousness began to close in once more, he somehow knew three things, and three things only:_

_He was falling._

_He had been **pushed**._

_He wanted his family._

_Darkness, again._

_Nothing._

_The boy fell, and the gods raged._

_Time goes on._


	2. Mischief in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy chooses to cause problems on purpose :)

Tom opened his eyes.

It was a quiet, peaceful morning. Thin slats of sunlight poured in despite the curtain over the window, making the pale gray walls look white and highlighting the particles of dust lazily drifting through the air. There were no sounds apart from the breathing of the other boys in their beds, with the occasional squeak of a spring as one rolled over in his sleep.

Letting out a slow breath, Tom lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, absently noting the various stains and scuffs across its surface. Despite the relative peace of the morning, Tom felt vaguely unsettled. It was the sort of feeling that comes when you leave your home in a rush only to realize, some miles down the road, that you might have left the oven on. Or perhaps the feeling of settling down for bed one night only to bolt upright, struck with the thought that an important deadline for an assignment may be fast approaching and here you are, drifting off to sleep without a care in the world. It’s the feeling that something is wrong, that something is missing-

The feeling that you’ve forgotten something very important.

He lay there for a few moments more, considering this unpleasant but quickly fading notion, and then decided that this morning was decidedly too peaceful for his liking. Too much quiet only led to unsettling feelings and confusing thoughts and curious pulses of pain that made his temples throb and vision waver until he distracted himself with something more entertaining.

Like taking a shoe from every boy in the room, but only and specifically the left one. Because fuck left shoes, who needs ‘em, right?

And of course he was right because he’s Tom and he’s always right.

On that note, Tom swung his legs over the edge of the bed and let his feet settle on the floor, wincing at the cold that immediately bit into his bare skin. The chill previously kept at bay by his blanket encouraged him to move quickly as he got dressed for the day, carelessly tugged his bedding into a facsimile of order, and snagged every left shoe the other boys had left scattered around the room.

Tom exited the bedroom with a grin on his face and an armful of miscellaneous footwear, mind racing with possible hiding places and the other various pranks he could set up before the rest of the house began waking up.

It really was a nice morning.

* * *

Unfortunately, the other residents of the group home weren’t as excited about Tom’s attempts to liven up the dreary place. Really, you’d think they be more appreciative; after all, nothing quite gets the blood pumping like a splash of cold water in your face, especially when administered via bucket perched on your door. And searching for a missing object like a shoe or your car keys or the sofa from the common room only builds character! Tom is honestly doing them all a favor.

(Not to mention maneuvering that couch onto the roof without alerting any of the administrators was truly a superhuman achievement, and frankly, the lack of acknowledgement for his Big Man Abilities is just insulting.)

Unfortunately, as a result of the other residents’ piss poor opinions, Tom finds himself slumped in a familiarly uncomfortable chair in the small office. The room was tucked away in a corner of the first floor, close enough to the common area that the muffled shouts and conversations of the other kids were audible but ultimately unintelligible through the firmly closed door.

Tom studied his frayed shoelaces as the uncomfortable energy of the office grew, spurred on by the silent and heavy gaze of Ms. Clara. The older woman had her hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes fixed on Tom while the boy did everything in his power to avoid eye contact. After a few more minutes had passed and he had resorted to studying a particularly interesting paint chip on the wall, Ms. Clara sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples in an attempt to stave off a growing headache.

“Tom, please just explain to me why you woke up this morning and immediately decided to get into mischief.”

Slightly startled that she had been the first one to break in their standoff, Tom swung his gaze back to Ms. Clara. “Oh, really, only 11 minutes today?” He said, a bit incredulous. “You’re usually way better at this whole…” he trailed off, gesturing between the pair a little helplessly before continuing, “…like, battle of wills thing we’ve got going on.”

A corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile, but she quickly pushed it back down and adjusted her glasses. “Well, Tom, I’m afraid that waking up at the crack of dawn and finding the entire home in complete and utter disarray to be a bit trying on my patience.” She fixed Tom with a look that had him pursing his lips and glancing a bit sheepishly to the side. “I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Tom couldn’t stop himself from answering anyway.

“Well, actually, no. I don’t understand.” He shrugged. “A little bit of mischief in the morning just gets you hyped for the day! It’s exciting, innit?”

She stared at him in disbelief as he thumped his chest, growing louder and more passionate as he continued. “That’s what a growing boy _needs_ , Clara, a little bit of trouble and shit! I should know, as I am definitely growing although I’m already such a big man, I’m actually the biggest man I know, holy shit-“

The woman cut him off with a raised hand.

“Okay, okay, Tom. I get it.” Tom watched as she scrubbed a hand over her face, and noticed for the first time that her eyes, normally warm and brown, were dull, while the bags under said eyes were darker and more pronounced in comparison. She looked tired.

Okay, he felt a bit guilty now.

“I just…”

Clara didn’t seem to know what to say for moment, drumming her nails against her desk as she thought.

“Listen, Tom. I know that we’ve had a few talks in the past-”

(That’s an understatement. He’s been in this office at least once a week since he first arrived at the home around 7 months ago, bruised and spitting mad at the world.)

“-and you’re a good kid, honestly, you’re so intelligent, if you’d just-”

(Yeah, he’s such a good kid. Every good kid likes causing problems for others on purpose, right?)

“-bad experiences in the past, I know, and I’m sorry, but you can’t just give up-”

(Him, give up? Never, lady.)

(He wasn’t the one giving up.)

“-so despite your behavior this morning, I’m still going to allow you to come on the group outing today.”

Now that caught his attention. “Wait, wait, the trip to the museum? That’s today?” Tom exclaimed, straightening up in his chair for the first time since the conversation began. “And you’re letting me go? Truly?”

While her slightly sour expression made it clear that she was very aware he had only just tuned back into the conversation, Clara nodded and turned slightly to face her computer. “Yes, really. I’m not so sure the others will agree with me, but we have the money for once and I know that you’ve been looking forward to it.”

She tapped a few keys and glanced over at Tom. Her face softened slightly as she took in his excitement, though he was making a half-hearted attempt to stifle it. “You may not believe me, Tom, but I do care about your happiness while you’re here. I want you to be excited for the future, for the opportunities that are waiting just around the corner if you’re just willing to put in the work needed to get there.”

He didn’t respond.

Clara waited a moment, and then gave a little sigh. “You can go now, Tom. Please, just don’t stir up any more trouble before we leave. That’s all I ask.”

Well, no need to tell him twice. Tom popped out of that shitty chair and made a beeline for the door. On his way out, he paused and looked over his shoulder at the woman at the desk, at her red glasses and the silver hairs peppering her dark curls and the lines on her face, borne of stress and smiles alike. He felt a sudden surge of emotion, one that spurred him to show a bit of mercy and, at least for a moment, refrain from giving her a hard time.

“Clara, when you were my age, what did you want to do with your future?” He asked impulsively, as was his natural state of being. “What was your dream?”

She looked a little surprised at the question before answering.

“Well, I suppose that- well.” Clara appeared a little embarrassed, but the look in her eyes was fond. “I suppose that I wanted to be an astronaut.” She looked distant for a moment, before blinking and refocusing on Tom once more.

“And by the way, Tom, last question: where did you put my bloody car keys?”

Tom’s mouth opened in a little ‘o’ of surprise, before his distinctive cackle burst out of him, taking Clara a little aback. He stepped back into the room, kneeled by his chair, and peeled the keys from where he’d taped them to the bottom of the seat.

Tossing them onto her desk, he shrugged and grinned at the look on her face before turning to exit the room once more. “Like I said, Clara. You need a little mischief every once and a while to liven things up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First real chapter is up!! Sorry if it’s a bit short. Like I said, I’m really out of practice. If you read to the end, thanks so much! I appreciate it!
> 
> This is a little bit of an introductory chapter, but the action should pick up fairly quick, especially since I have no idea how to establish a good pace :’) RIP
> 
> *Edited: 2/19/21


	3. A Trip to the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy takes a totally normal trip to the local museum :)

Something bounced off of the back of Tom’s head.

He very carefully didn’t react as snickers and whispers broke out from the kids sitting behind him in the van, keeping his gaze fixed on the world passing by from the window. While he would like nothing more than to whip around and start stabbing shit (metaphorically, that is), the odds of him having to sit in the van while the rest of the group explored the museum were exceedingly high. He really didn’t want to miss out on this particular trip, and for once the struggle of reigning in his explosive personality would be worth the results.

See, while Tom normally wasn’t very interested in typical academic shit, there were still random subjects that he found himself drawn to. Topics like ancient sword fighting techniques, chemical experiments and reactions, various business models; they were all completely different and totally unconnected, but for whatever reason Tom devoured information about them like a man possessed. Oftentimes he would forgo his actual homework in favor of doing independent research, losing hours while reading articles and looking at illustrations and shit.

But the one thing that Tom was interested in above all else was mythology. Or, to be more specific, the Craft Pantheon.

He couldn’t really remember when, why, or how he had first heard of the Craft Pantheon. It was as if he had woken up one morning with the burning need to know _everything_ about it, about its lore and its heroes and, above all, the gods and goddesses and deities that made up its court. Although he would never admit it to another living soul, as he already faced enough disdain and teasing from his housemates in retribution for his pranks, Tom felt a bit of a connection to the Craft Pantheon. It was something intrinsic, something inherent to the core of who he was.

Whoever he was before the memory loss, of course.

Anyway.

The Craft Pantheon was the sole reason that Tom was behaving on the way to the museum; a brand new exhibit had opened up earlier in the month, containing tons of statues, sculptures, clay pieces, paintings, and more, all concentrated around its mythology from over centuries and centuries of history. He’d caught sight of an advertisement during one of his late night internet dives and had immediately begun pestering Clara to let him go. She’d refused on the grounds that the home had no money to spare for outings, and if Tom went then the rest of the kids would have to be allowed to go as well, and so on; but in some chance stroke of luck, the Bay’s Home for Boys had been granted an additional bout of funding purely for recreational activities. It was for morale and enrichment or something, but Tom didn’t really give a fuck about the specifics.

All that mattered was getting to that museum and seeing that exhibit with his own two eyes.

Another wad of paper clipped the side of his head.

Tom closed his eyes, breathed for a moment, and then nodded to himself.

On second thought, fuck this.

Chaos erupted in the confines of the van.

* * *

Tom shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, slouching in his position next to Clara as the group cloistered together on the museum steps.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” She said loudly, waving a hand to catch their attention. A few of the older boys continued roughhousing, attempting to push each other down the stairs, but a sharp look from the older woman reined them in. “When we get into the museum, I want you to stay in groups of 3 or 4 each. You’re free to walk around the exhibit, but we all need to stay in the same room and move on to the next together. Understand?” A scattered chorus of agreement seemed to satisfy her, and she began leading the way into the museum.

“And Tom, you’ll be staying right by my side for the duration of this trip.”

The light glinted off of her glasses.

“And I mean the _entire_ duration.”

He nodded reluctantly, hoping he looked as sullen as he felt. It’s not like he had another group to join anyway, but the embarrassment of having to follow Clara like some naughty child rightly pissed him off. Still, after the screaming match that had erupted between Tom and the boys that had been throwing shit at his head, he reckoned that he was lucky still getting to leave the van at all. If this was the only way he would get to see that exhibit, he would take what he would get.

As they entered the building to purchase their passes, Tom caught the eyes of a particular trio of boys loitering on the fringes of the collective group. Two of them were rather thin and gangly, not unlike Tom himself, but it was the stocky and broad-shouldered boy that truly snagged Tom’s attention.

Fucking Gary.

Ever since Tom had arrived at Bay’s 7 months ago, it was evident that he and Gary would be at odds. The other boy had been in the system since he was 8 years old, and had been the top dog at the home since his own arrival nearly three weeks prior to Tom’s.

Needless to say, Tom had him pegged as a threat from the moment the boy had swaggered up to him in the second floor bathroom, cast an appraising eye over his relatively intact red sneakers, and suggested to Tom that they would be accepted as his exit fee to leave the room.

Also needless to say, Tom did not hand over his shoes.

That was the beginning of their small scale war in the group home, where Greg and his lackeys would attempt to catch Tom in an out-of-the-way corner and enact some sort of physical harm, and Tom would terrorize them within an inch of their sanity by stealing and hiding their belongings, rigging up simple traps, and more, and then, when confronted, pretending that he had nothing to do with any of the chaos.

If Tom remembered the definition correctly, he was pretty ace at gaslighting the fuckers at this point.

Still, whether or not Tom was actually caught committing the small acts of mischief, it was obvious to Greg who was at fault. The enmity between the two only continued to grow until Tom was more or less completely alienated from the rest of the boys in the home after Greg made it clear that anyone caught associating with the blond would pay the price. The past few months of isolation and cold shoulders had admittedly been a bit hard to bear, and Tom had retaliated by extending his pranks to affect the rest of the residents as well. This, clearly, did not help him make any friends.

As Tom stared, Gary grinned and smacked a fist into his open palm a couple times while the other two boys snickered at his sides. The threat was clear, and it occurred to Tom that sticking next to Clara might not be such a bad idea after all.

Not that he was scared or anything. No, Tom wasn’t scared of anything or anyone, ever, and to prove this he extended a proud middle finger in their direction. Gary looked mutinous and began to make his way over, fists clenched tight by his sides.

Luckily, the sudden surge of their group’s movement blocked off Gary’s advance as one of the other home supervisors returned with the passes. Tom let out a quiet sigh of relief and followed Clara into the first exhibition room. The next twenty minutes slowly dragged by as Tom and the other boys shuffled around, glancing at various placards and attempting to appear at least somewhat interested. More than once, Tom glanced over his shoulder and noticed Gary following his path, doing his best to loom ominously even from a distance.

“Dickhead.” He muttered under his breath, and then pretended to be Very Interested in a random piece of pottery when Clara clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

Eventually, after making their way through two or three smaller exhibits, the group entered the biggest hall at the very heart of the museum. From the moment that his foot crossed the threshold, Tom felt something within him slide into place, filling a hole he hadn’t been quite aware of until this moment.

The hall was a huge, sweeping atrium. The domed glass ceiling allowed for plenty of natural light to come pouring in, and patches of the white walls and marble flooring gleamed as the light bounced off their surfaces. Smooth, white columns dominated the room’s circumference, and Tom let his hand trail across one as they navigated through the crowd to the center of the room, where a cluster of art pieces were receiving the bulk of the attention.

Despite the general volume of the laughing boys and chattering visitors around him, the world grew quiet.

This is what he came for.

All around the room, in its center and on the walls and nestled in between the ring of columns were countless artifacts, paintings, and other pieces depicting various myths and figures of the Craft Pantheon. He could see scenes of battles, portraits of unidentifiable figures, some kind of tapestry, cracked vases- a bit overwhelmed, Tom had no idea where to start first, and hovered uncertainly at Clara’s side. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and when his wide eyes met hers, Clara gave him a smile.

“Go on then.” She said, giving him a little push further into the room. “I’ll give you free reign in here.” His heart jumped, and a bright grin quickly dominated his face. He left her there as he scurried to the nearest painting, slipping between various visitors as he went. “Just remember, Tom, don’t leave this room!” She called, taking his raised hand as confirmation and turned to accompany another group of boys around the exhibit.

* * *

Tom spent a chunk of time in a daze, floating from one exhibit to the next. He studied various paintings, tracing the lines of the deities clashing against each other against dark and stormy backgrounds. Pausing at the tapestry he had noticed from the entrance, he stared at a figure clad in a green tunic, a dark purple axe clutched in their hands. Any identifiable features were obscured by a neatly woven circle of white thread. In the middle of that circle were two small, black dots and a slightly crooked smile; the simple face caused a wave of goosebumps to wash over his arms. Tom quickly moved on.

He stared at a painting depicting one goddess whose name escaped him, the woman standing in a waist-high field of flowers; her two-toned hair, pale blonde against black, was both lovely and achingly familiar. She looked kind, her soft smile welcoming, but something in Tom suggested that the glint of steel in her gaze was not to be ignored.

There was a dented, bronze shield depicting, curiously enough, a fox and some kind of fish. The laughing silhouette of the fox depicted it in mid-leap over the fish, which appeared to be swimming in the opposite direction. It seemed right that they were together, even for a frozen moment in time.

He halted at a pedestal, close to the end of his slow journey around the perimeter of the atrium. It housed a marble bust of one of the pantheon’s deities. Although Tom wasn’t much of an artist, he still marveled at the delicate lines of their crown, perched on smoothly carved waves and curls of hair. There was a blindfold around the bust’s eyes, and Tom absently wondered what might be hiding under there.

The placard on the pedestal declared that the bust was an interpretation of a deity known as the Lonely King. 

“Lonely, huh?” He mused aloud, lingering for one moment more. He took note of the slight downturn of the deity’s mouth, and then turned away.

_It’s only natural. A lack of loyalty always leaves you alone, in the end._

_Traitor._

The whispered thought barely caught Tom’s attention as he finally moved towards the center of the room. The crowd around the exhibit had hardly thinned out at all as the three statues there were, unquestionably, the crowning jewels of the Craft Pantheon exhibition.

They were rather large, easily over 6 feet tall each; arranged in a semi-circle, the three figures all appeared to be staring towards the center of the space in their arc. As Tom made his way to the front of the throng, he was able to take in the full details of the marble statues and felt blown away at the sight.

The three men were, of course, the most well-known trio in all of the Craft Pantheon. Three gods who ruled over some of the most important aspects of humanity, revered for their power and feared for their darker dominions.

Their names popped into Tom’s head, unbidden.

The Deathless One. The Blood God. The Mad Bard.

On the left, closest to Tom at the moment, stood the Blood God. The statue was hefting a brutal looking axe over a broad shoulder, a long braid draped over the other. A cape hung down to his ankles, rich fur trim lining its full length and fluffing up at the collar, and pinned together at the throat with some kind of gemstone clasp. While he appeared human in stature, the boar’s head adorned with a heavily jeweled crown showed that he was anything but. Gleaming marble tusks and narrow eyes made the god look unbelievably intimidating as he glared over the crowd.

On the right stood the Mad Bard. While just as tall as the opposing statue, this god was noticeably leaner. In one hand he held a lute, and the other a book with a feathered quill emerging from its pages. A gemstone similar to the clasp of the Blood God’s cape was embedded into the book’s cover. While nothing about these items were immediately threatening, Tom felt that the statue’s expression revealed that the god was anything but harmless. A tumble of marble curls obscured one eye, but the unhinged look in the other and the grin pulling at his lips were unsettling, to say the least.

Finally, in the center, was the oldest and most revered of the entire divine court: the Deathless One, said to command life and death. The unassuming figure was shorter than either of the other two statues, but it was hard to notice this due to the huge wings outstretched on either side of his body. Gleaming feathers, immaculately carved, drew the admiration of many of the visitors, Tom included. A single earring could be seen among his chin length locks; once again, its gem closely resembled the two located on the other statues, and Tom figured it was some sort of symbol of the trio’s infamous alliance. A piece of headwear was pulled down low, hiding the statue’s eyes from view from where Tom stood, but it was still clear where his gaze was directed.

Tom followed its path until he spotted its destination: a patch of floor, marked by a circle of dark red carpet. There was a short line of people who took turns standing on the spot, having their picture taken in the center of the statues’ arrangement. While he didn’t know for sure, Tom figured that the spot was where all of the god’s stares converged.

Tom wanted to stand there.

Without wasting another second, Tom joined the line. It didn’t take very long, thankfully, as most people just snapped a picture and moved on, but it still felt like he was waiting for ages. Time was moving slowly, too slowly, as he steadily moved closer and closer to the trio of gods. It may have been kind of dorky to be so excited (and Tom was anything but a dork because he was so fucking cool) but he couldn’t help it. He bounced on the balls of his feet, impatient as a couple posed for a photo and took a bit too long for his liking.

Finally, it was his turn. Tom felt nervous as he shuffled to the circle, his heart pounding a bit too hard to be normal. He stepped into its center and paused, clenching the hem of his shirt for a moment. Then, internally scolding himself for acting like a pussy, Tom looked up and locked eyes with the Deathless One.

Absently, Tom noted that from this angle, you were able to see under the brim of his hat.

It was strange, really. Although his wingspan and overall appearance were imposing as hell, the look in his eyes was sad. Tom studied the furrow in his brow, the tight line of his lips. A bit confused, he turned to the left to the Blood God, and gave a little start when he stared directly into his eyes.

Again, from this position, Tom thought that his frown and narrow eyes were less bloodthirsty and more wistful. It was like his gaze was searching for something just out of sight, something slipping just past the horizon. To confirm his suspicion, Tom broke the stare and twisted instead to the Mad Bard. Sure enough, while the statue was smiling, his expression screamed desperation. It was as if, for the first time, no amount of charm or pretty words could get what he wanted. He looked like a man whose world was falling apart at the seams.

“What the fuck?” Tom breathed, scanning the faces of the three statues once more. He ignored the slightly disgruntled muttering of the people waiting in line behind him. “Why are you guys so sad?”

His blue eyes once again returned to the Deathless One.

“What did you lose?”

_CRACK._

The moment that those words fell from his lips, the three matching gemstones on each of the statues split in half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, how mysterious! Well, there must be a reasonable explanation for this.
> 
> Probably.
> 
> If you read to the end, thanks so much!! I kind of enjoyed making up some of the exhibit pieces, lol. I actually really miss going to museums and stuff; I haven’t been in a really long time.


	4. Run Boy Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chase, an escape, and an unexpected meeting

_What the fuck what the fuck what the fuuuuuuuuuuuck-_

The phrase blared repeatedly in Tom’s mind as he took a few stumbling steps backwards. He, along with the rest of the museum visitors waiting in line next to the statues, had frozen in shock at the sight of three identical, jagged cracks bursting into existence across the gemstones’ surfaces. As everyone stared, stunned beyond words, a few trickles of dust fell silently onto the Deathless One’s podium.

“What the fuck.” Tom said flatly, his words ringing in the quiet of the atrium.

Wait a minute.

The silence ringing loudly in his ears, Tom dared a look over his shoulder.

Evidently, the cracking of the gems had been louder than what could be defined as natural and somehow caught the attention of the entirety of those wandering around the exhibit. Tom swallowed upon seeing the countless disbelieving gazes pointed his way, and felt a bead of sweat trickle beneath the hem of his shirt. Despite the fact that he hadn’t so much as poked any of the statues, he couldn’t help but feel directly responsible for the damage given that he had been the one standing closest at the time.

By the time that a few museum attendees had overcome their shock and begun encroaching on the statues, Tom had made himself scarce. Slipping into the gathering crowd, he made his way towards a random doorway; he didn’t feel like answering any questions from any pissed off curators, or worse, a pissed off Clara.

Seriously, sometimes that woman scared the shit out of him.

Unfortunately, he had barely made his way into the hallway before a hand closed roughly around the back of his shirt and pulled, sending him crashing back into a wall.

“Ow, shit!” He complained, catching himself on its surface and steadying himself. Looking up, it was safe to say that Tom wasn’t surprised to see Gary standing there. His two tagalongs, a pair of twins whose names honestly weren’t important or interesting enough for him to remember, high-fived each other and laughed at Tom’s expression.

“Man, Tom, I’ve been trying to catch up with you during this whole stupid tour.” Gary said, artificial friendliness infused in every word. He stepped a bit closer to where Tom was still leaning against the wall, and ignored how the other boy noticeably tensed up at his approach. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me!” He shook his head, giving a rueful laugh at his own statement. “But you wouldn’t do that, would ya, Toms?”

The mocking tone combined with the nickname instantly caused Tom’s blood pressure to rise. While it wasn’t like he had any fond memories of being called ‘Toms’, not from before his arrival to the group home and certainly not while living there, hearing it used as a derogatory term just sparked something hot and angry in his chest.

“Nah, big G, of course not.” He said between gritted teeth. “But if I ever did, it wouldn’t be hard. Your smell would give you away from miles off.”

One of the twins chuckled at that, but a sharp look from Gary had him awkwardly clearing his throat and scuffing his shoe against the tiled floor.

Gary turned back to Tom, and the dark gleam in his eye alerted Tom to the realization that shit was about to pop off.

As Gary deliberately began cracking his knuckles, the unspoken threat quite clear, Tom began looking quickly around the area he had found himself cornered in. It was an empty hallway with three branches: one to his left was a dead end, containing only a couple of potted plants and water fountains. Ahead of him, fully blocked off by Gary and the twins, was another of the smaller exhibit rooms. There were other people in there, but there was no way he could get past all three of the boys intent on kicking his ass. Going back into the Craft Pantheon exhibit was obviously not an option, judging by the loud exclamations and flurry of activity audible from the hall. So that just left-

Before Gary could take another step forward, Tom bolted to the right and began sprinting down the length of the hallway. The trio stared after him in surprise for a few seconds before giving chase, their footsteps echoing wildly in the process.

Admittedly, Tom hadn’t quite come up with a fleshed out plan before running; panic began to slip into his racing thoughts, his breath already noticeably heavy from the physical activity. Tom may be the biggest of men, but, well- he still wasn’t very athletically inclined. Luckily his height gave him a bit of a leg up on his pursuers, but he couldn’t keep this up forever.

And more to the point, this hallway wouldn’t last forever either. At this realization, Tom spotted the lone door at the quickly approaching end of the hall. It was was mostly made out of tinted glass, and he could just make out what looked like a blurred blob of green behind it. Elated, Tom reasoned it was probably an entrance to the outside world, possibly a small courtyard garden or something, and he figured getting out into an open space with more places to duck into would greatly improve his chances of escape.

Pushing himself just a bit further, Tom crashed into the door and flung it open, not slowing his pace as he darted out into freedom.

* * *

Okay, so he definitely hadn’t made it outside.

When Tom had burst out of the hallway, his mind was racing with possible escape routes; some of them included various feats of parkour that he definitely couldn’t physically accomplish, but the one he was leaning towards involved running around the side of the museum and ducking back inside. From there, he could easily lose Gary and the twins in the crowd, and then link back up with Clara while heading back to the van.

However, it quickly became evident that this plan of action would be impossible as he realized that this area was still encased in some kind of room. He only grew more confused as he took in all of the lush greenery filling the room from corner to corner.

Unconsciously, he slowed down a bit in wonder and confusion at the sight of this unexpected discovery. It was very quiet here. The glass walls and ceiling flooded the area with sunlight, and it was noticeably warmer in comparison the rest of the museum. Trickles of condensation were making their way down the glass panes, blurring the view of the outside world. There were countless flowers, bushes, ferns, and even a handful small trees arranged in clusters, the natural life broken up only by the paths intersecting at various points in the room.

Tom flinched as something flitted right in front of his face, only to realize that it was a huge, yellow butterfly. Its wing lightly brushed against his cheek as it made its way to destinations unknown. With that, Tom became aware that this place was full of butterflies, actually, and several other kinds of insects made themselves known with their quiet chirps and low hums.

A buzz next to his ear told Tom that there were bees here too, probably to pollinate the flowers and keep everything healthy, and a small smile made its way to his lips. He’d always liked bees. They minded their business for the most part, but fuck with them and they’d make sure to sting you back.

Tom watched the little guy disappear into a nearby bush (lavender, it looked like) and spared a moment to wonder about where he’d end up, when a sudden crash shattered the relative peace and reminded Tom that he was still in the process of being chased.

Swearing under his breath, he darted deeper into the grid of pathways covering the length of the room, ducking under errant fronds and dipping branches as he went. He hoped to lose them in the maze that all of the plants unwittingly created, but the faint clattering of footsteps were only growing louder.

They were going to catch him.

Breath coming in quick pants, chest feeling tight and strained, Tom looked around wildly for some kind of exit; at this point, he’d even take running into a museum employee and being swept off for interrogation about the mysterious damage to the statues. But no, there were no convenient rope ladders or marked exit doors or even a path looping back around to the entrance he’d come crashing through in the first place.

He stopped running, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping for breath. He couldn’t run anymore. Sweat poured down his face, spurred on by the humid air in the greenhouse, and he blinked it out of his eyes, the salt stinging slightly.

“Okay…okay, fuck, what are my options?” He gasped out, straightening up and beginning to spin in a circle. He saw a tree unfortunately too small to climb, a few flowers, and-

That might just work.

Without wasting another moment, Tom dived under a cluster of plants with huge, wide fronds. Wiggling his way further into the crush of plants, he carefully tugged one of the wider leaves down behind him. Closing his eyes and praying that he was out of sight, Tom allowed his body to go lax against the soft earth of the garden plot. Although the dirt that stuck to his damp arms and the back of his neck was a little annoying, the cool ground helped him wind down and concentrate on reigning in his loud, labored breaths.

Not a moment too soon. As Tom caught his breath, a flash of movement outside of his hiding place caused him to still even further. “Damn it, where’d the little rat _go_?” Gary complained, sounding just as winded as Tom himself.

Said rat stared with wide eyes at the feet standing just inches away.

They paced around a bit more, obviously uncertain about where their prey could have slipped off to or what direction he might have headed in. After a few more moments, Gary let out a sound of disgust and made some motion out of Tom’s range of sight that sent the twins off back the way they came. Gary himself waited a beat more, and then kicked a small twig out of his way as he headed in the opposite direction. Apparently, they were now splitting up in hopes of finding Tom somewhere amongst the greenery dominating the room.

Little did they know that he was hiding quite literally in those plants. He lay there in silence for a handful of minutes, waiting until he was absolutely sure that they were some distance away, and then let out an explosive breath.

Tom couldn’t help but grin. “Fuck, I’m the best!” He proclaimed to the surrounding flora, grabbing one of the fronds by the stem and shaking it in excitement. The plant obviously agreed.

He was about to roll out from his hiding spot when a slight rustle froze him in his tracks. Strangely, it hadn’t come from the direction of the path; rather, it was from deeper into the patch of plants he had squirreled himself away in. Tom stared in that direction, squinting, and realized that this particular plot must be one of the bigger ones. He hesitated for a moment, and then began making his way towards the sound.

He was thankful that no one was there to witness this particular journey. Partially out of fear of standing up and being spotted by Greg or the twins, and partially due to the denseness and arrangement of the various bushes and other plants in his path, Tom had to army crawl through the brush. More than once, he had to pause and tug his shirt free from where it had caught on some errant branch. This was his favorite red and white shirt, and he would be pissed if got torn or ripped in the process of satisfying his curiosity.

Still, after a bit of crawling, Tom realized that the dense plant life was beginning to thin out. Excited, he sped up his pace, cursing a bit as his hand slipped against a loose patch of dirt and he fell forward, scratching his cheek on some random vine speckled with thorns. He was still complaining when he burst out of the brush, thoroughly startling the boy already sitting cross-legged in the open center of the plot.

The two made eye contact, and the world stopped turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder who this kid could be?
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments!! I really, really appreciate the support :)
> 
> *Edited: 2/19/21


	5. Old Friends Who’ve Just Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting of Bee Boy and Big Man Tom
> 
> (Or is it more of a reunion?)

_There were few sights more beautiful than the view from his bench._

_He shifted slightly, feeling the grooves in the wood against his fingertips and the grass lightly brushing against the bare skin of his ankles. He’d lost his sandals at some point in the chaos of the day, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that much; his toes curled into the earth and he felt grounded in a way that was somewhat unfamiliar to a body constantly on the move._

_The horizon stretched on before him, streaked with brilliant hues of pink, orange, and yellow, the setting sun a familiar face just dipping beneath the distant mountain range. Wispy clouds trailed across the sky, pushed on by the same breeze that felt cool and sweet on his face. The leaves of the great tree overhead rustled softly._

_A deep breath in._

_A slow breath out._

_He could feel the warmth of the body next to him. Their shoulders bumped, gently, and he felt a wave of bone-deep calm wash over him. The quiet chimes of their music box were familiar, comforting, as recognizable to them as their own names._

_Their names._

_What were their names again?_

_“T____,” said his best friend._

_Where was he?_

_“T____?”_

_Who was he?_

_“T____!”_

_Feeling as though he was moving through a thick, suffocating syrup, he slowly turned to look at at the source of the voice that now sounded so worried._

_“Tubbo?”_

* * *

Tom snapped back into reality just as abruptly as he’d zoned out in the first place. He blinked a few times, bringing a hand to his temple at the pounding headache that had suddenly sprung into being. “Shit,” he muttered, slowly pushing himself up from his stomach to plop down in the grass. “Did I hit my head or something?”

_“_ Erm, no? I don’t think so, at least.”

Startled, Tom reflexively shoved himself back; the bush from which he’d burst from rattled as it stopped his retreat, and he brought both legs up defensively against his chest. Eyes wide, he was suddenly reminded of his discovery at the center of the conservatory plot.

The boy stared back, expression just as surprised as Tom’s own surely was. His thick brown hair fell messily across his forehead, his shoulders pulled up towards his ears at Tom’s sudden movement and his cupped hands pulled protectively against his own chest. As the two continued staring silently across the small distance between them, Tom noted that his green shirt had been buttoned incorrectly, gaping open in such a ridiculous way that he couldn’t help but find a little charming.

Overall, he appeared to be a normal kid, despite the fact that he was for whatever reason squirreled away in a surely restricted area of the museum’s greenhouse.

So why, if he was so average, did this boy feel so desperately, achingly familiar?

Everything about him- from his blue eyes, to his ridiculous shirt, to the way one shoe had its laces neatly tied and the others dragging in the dirt- just felt _right_. Just as Tom looked into the mirror each morning and recognized his own features, something in him recognized the strange boy before him, and that same something ached deeply in his chest at the notion that he had forgotten this fact until this exact moment. Tom opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his attention was caught by something moving in the shelter of the boy’s hands.

Without thinking, Tom unfolded from where he sat and shuffled closer, missing the way that other boy leaned back slightly at his approach.

“Whatcha got in your hands, man?” He asked absently, already in the process of leaning forward to see for himself. The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly proffered his cupped hands in Tom’s direction. Within his protective cradle, a small bee perched, oddly docile, in the center of his palm. As Tom stared, the little insect buzzed its wings in short, quick bursts; it began crawling around the boy’s hand, trekking up one digit and then back down, looking for all the world like it was on some grand hike across towering mountains and then back down into the valley below.

Tom grinned and outstretched a finger to gently ‘boop’ the little bee’s side. “Aw, would you look at him! Bet he thinks he’s such a big man, fucking dominating one of those big bitches that tromp around and squash his flowers all the time!” The bee seemed to give a confirming hum before suddenly taking to the air. Tom followed its path as it went, watching as it quickly disappeared into the surrounding greenery.

A trembling hand suddenly brushed against the bare skin of his arm, reclaiming his attention as he turned back to the mysterious bee boy. Tom quickly grew alarmed at the sight of his face, which had become as white as a sheet and his eyes somehow even larger and suspiciously glossier than before. For all accounts, it was though he had seen a ghost.

“Shit, shit, man, you alright? What’s wrong with you?” Tom asked, raising up slightly on his knees as the boy continued to stare at him. “Seriously, fuck, what’s wrong?”

With every word, the small tremors of his hands only worsened. Tom was definitely a bit panicked now; was he having some kind of seizure? Frantically, Tom tried to recall anything he had heard about what to do during such an emergency, but all he could think about was jamming a wallet into the kid’s mouth so he didn’t, like, bite his tongue off or something? He didn’t fucking know!

He didn’t even have a wallet!

“Damn it, okay, shit, fuck, damn- HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP, BITCH?” Tom suddenly shouted, thrusting three raised fingers directly in front of the boy’s face. That’s something people did in a medical crisis sometimes, right?

The kid immediately went cross-eyed due to their close proximity to his nose; surprisingly, as he struggled to bring them in the focus, his concentration seemed to help break whatever spell he had fallen under. His trembling slowly subsided as he pulled back slightly, gaze flickering from Tom’s raised hand to Tom’s own slightly panicked expression.

“U-uh, three?”

Tom left the fingers up for a moment, squinting suspiciously at the hesitant answer, before giving a satisfied nod and falling back to rest his weight on his heels. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Guess you don’t have one of those- uh, one of those bonks on the head that make your vision go all wobbly and shit.”

The boy’s stare rested unwaveringly on Tom’s face as he spoke. At the completely professional diagnosis, he tilted his head slightly to the side, nervously fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt. “Do you mean a con-cussion?” He offered, the unfamiliar word tripping off his tongue. Tom snapped his fingers and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s the one!”

Silence fell between them again. This time it was a bit awkward for Tom, as the other boy seemed to be fascinated with his appearance and kept staring at his face with intense focus. He shifted a little uncomfortably, picked at some grass off to the side, and then clapped his hands together, making the boy jump at the sudden sound ringing in the air.

“Well, this has been just _lovely_ ,” Tom babbled, hauling himself up to his feet and pointedly brushing some loose dirt from his pants, “but methinks it’s time to head on out. You know, things to do, people to see, women to date.” He rocked uncertainly in place for a moment before nodding at the boy still sitting silently on the ground. “Uh, good day!”

With that, he spun on his heel and began to head back the way he came. From behind him, he could hear the boy scrambling to his feet, and Tom hastened his pace, ducking into the foliage and wriggling back to the path as quickly as possible without gouging his eye out on a random twig or branch. Hauling himself out onto the walkway with a groan, he waited a moment in tense anticipation for any indication that he was being followed by the boy.

Silence. Not a rustle from the foliage.

Satisfied, Tom turned with the intention of booking it to the glass door and making his way back to Clara, away from any weird kids hiding in the bushes while conversing with bugs or packs of roaming bullies out for blood (more specifically, his).

A shriek was wrenched from his lips as he nearly crashed into the mysterious boy, who’d somehow silently appeared on the path behind him.

* * *

Bee Boy, as Tom had impulsively decided to call him, merely raised an eyebrow at Tom’s _very manly shout of mild surprise_. “Are you done?” He asked mildly as Tom scrambled back, farther down the path. It was as if he found Tom’s reaction to his undetected and sudden appearance to be a bit overdramatic.

“W-W-What do you MEAN am I DONE?” Tom demanded, chest heaving as he panted for breath. “Am I DONE having the FUCKING PISS scared out of me, you bitch?” He glared at the other boy, fully expecting him to look at least a little offended at Tom’s choice of words.

Instead he found himself further unsettled as, instead reacting like any normal person would after having profanities screamed in their face, Bee Boy grinned brightly, appearing absolutely delighted at the insults being slung his way. He clasped his hands together and bounced up and down excitedly, looking for all the world as if Christmas had come early and he’d gotten the exact toy he’d been hoping for. Having such raw, positive energy being flung in his direction made Tom feel a bit weak. In the moment, he hysterically wondered if Bee Boy was actually some kind of serial killer who lured in his victims by acting all innocent and shit before whipping out his knife and going crazy.

He eyed Bee Boy’s pockets with suspicion and scooted a little farther away.

Bee Boy seemed a little confused at this, tilting his head once more as he processed Tom’s tense posture and defensive body language. “Wait, what’s wrong?” He asked, brows furrowed in concern. “Why’re you acting like you’ve never seen me before?”

Tom gaped at him for a moment, hands gesturing fruitlessly in the air before he eventually flung his arms out on either side of his body in frustration.

“Because I _haven’t_ , that’s why!”

The exclamation seemed to hang in the air between them. Tom watched as Bee Boy’s face cycled through a flurry of emotions: he saw shock, confusion, concern, fear, and then a deep, numbing sadness. “Surely not…” he mumbled, eyes locked on Tom’s. For whatever reason, the other boy seemed stunned at his claim; however, this made absolutely no sense, as Tom was certain he had no memory of ever meeting the other before this strange encounter. Still, he couldn’t help but a feel a little bad at the devastation in the kid’s eyes. Although Bee Boy was undeniably a little odd, the way he’d sought to protect the little bee in his hands and the trust that the insect had displayed in him seemed to suggest that he was an overall sweet kid.

Scuffing the tip of his sneaker against the path, Tom looked skyward for a moment before sighing, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a few steps forward, somewhat closing the distance between the pair. “Look, man, I don’t really know what to tell you here. I don’t know you, and as far as I know, I’ve never met you before in my life.”

As he spoke, Bee Boy clenched his hands at his sides and stared up at Tom, a tinge of sadness still clear in his voice. “I-I just don’t understand! How could you forget me? Me, of all people?”

He began to move closer.

“If this is because of what happened before you left, I’m sorry! I promise, I-I’ve regretted it from the moment I told you to go! I’m sorry!” Bee Boy was louder now, getting more and more upset with every apology flung Tom’s way. Feeling deeply unsettled, Tom shifted slightly, as if he was about to step back once more. Almost faster than he could see, the boy quickly grabbed him by the wrist, desperation clear in every line of his body.

“Tommy, please!”

It felt like getting struck by lightning.

* * *

_He was back on the bench._

_It was the same scene as before: a pristine sunset, a worn bench, a well-loved song carried on the breeze._

_Only this time, when he turned to face the person sitting by his side, he was able to see their face._

_Dark hair, blue eyes, a bright smile._

_Familiar. Safe._

**_Home._ **

****

“Tubbo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter dragged on a little too long!! I was just really excited to get this pair together after so much time spent apart :(
> 
> (Tommy may not know it, but he’s been alone for much, much longer than he thinks.)
> 
> Again, thank you so, so much for the support!! I’m literally blown away. I’ve been writing fanfic on and off for years, but you all have been so nice!!! I’m feeling really pumped to keep this story going!


	6. ‘Till the End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo can carry out a bit of violence, as a treat.

Tom felt numb.

Bee Boy ( _Tubbo?_ ) still had a hand wrapped gently around Tom’s wrist, but his grip had gone a bit slack after Tom had absently muttered the name. Hope began to shine in his eyes.

“Yes, Tommy, yes! It’s me!” He affirmed quickly, rapidly nodding a few times. Tubbo let out an explosive breath, the tension leaking out of his shoulders as he gave Tom a slightly watery smile. “I knew it, man… I knew you couldn’t forget me!”

Tom didn’t respond. He could feel his brow furrowed in confusion and pain, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat. Why the fuck had he said that? It seemed to be the name of the mysterious boy but…

_How had Tom known his name in the first place_?

He didn’t know. He just couldn’t remember, no matter how much he strained to reach whatever fuzzy memories were possibly lurking somewhere deep inside his mind. While a veritable hurricane of questions were threatening to completely overwhelm the blond, there was only thing he could say in the face of Tubbo’s enthusiasm.

“Uh, my name’s Tom, actually.”

Tubbo paused, wrinkling his nose at the statement. “You what?” He said, giving Tom a weird look from head to toe. Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, he gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Nah, you’re no Tom. It’s Tommy, innit? At the very least, that’s the name that you chose first.”

Huh.

Tom mulled that over for a moment. On the one hand, Tom had been his name for as long as he could remember (which, considering his unique situation, wasn’t actually a significant chunk of time). On the other hand, this ‘Tubbo’ guy was kind of freaking him out with his ninja-level stealth skills and weird emotional outbursts and also, what the fuck, how could he possibly know what his name was or was not, they literally had _just_ met?

Still.

Tommy _was_ a lot cooler than plain old Tom. Tommy sounded like the kind of guy who could walk up to a woman in a public setting and speak words at her and shit. Plus it’s not even like he’d gotten a say in choosing his name; Tom was the name given to him after he’d been found wandering the streets, dazed and bruised and completely devoid of any identification or memory of the past 16 or so years of his own life. The authorities had been completely baffled when they were unable to find any trace of his existence in any of their systems. It was as if his records had vanished off the face of the earth, or perhaps even more concerning, like they had never even existed in the first place. In the whole of his time spent at Bay’s, he’d had nothing that was truly his. Not even his name.

Tommy made a choice.

“Yeah, alright then, big man.” Tommy said magnanimously, slipping out of Tubbo’s grip and straightening his posture. “Call me Tommy if you’d like.” The two exchanged grins, and the somewhat tense atmosphere surrounding them seemed to lighten a bit. Nevertheless, Tommy still felt a little wary about the whole situation. Clearly, Tubbo was under the impression that they knew each other; his panic at Tommy’s assertion otherwise and the comfortable familiarity with which he dubbed him Tommy-not-Tom seemed to back that up. However, the strangest bit about the whole thing was that a small part of Tommy seemed to agree.

It showed in the way that Tommy hadn’t yet booked it as far away as possible despite the weirdness of the encounter. The familiarity that sung in the back of his mind every time he looked at Tubbo stilled his feet, quieted any voice suggesting that ditching the kid would the best option for the future preservation of Tommy’s health and sanity. Well, if you asked him, health and sanity were fuckin’ overrated anyway.

But there were more pressing matters at hand; looking at Tubbo’s bright smile reminded Tommy that, inexplicable connection or not, there were still aspects of the other boy’s behavior that just didn’t make sense. One of the most glaring issues was that Tubbo knew Tommy, but Tommy didn’t know Tubbo, and that shit was just not on.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, and I still have no idea who you are.” He said flatly, steamrolling over Tubbo as the other boy instantly tried to object. “No, no, shut up! I’m not saying that I don’t know you at all. I don’t know why, but-” Tommy’s expression softened slightly, and he sighed. “I just don’t have those memories right now, I guess. That’s kinda my thing, man, the doctors said I have some kind of amnesia.”

Tubbo looked absolutely horrified once more, making Tommy want to squirm uncomfortably under his stricken stare. Instead he puffed out his chest, thumping the area over his heart a couple times as he tried to salvage the situation and reaffirm his big man status. “No, nooooo, cut that shit out, Tubbo! It’s fine, I’m fine! I’m always fine because I am me, and that’s fucking awesome!” He bared his teeth in a confident grin, and the sight seemed to take Tubbo’s breath away. “Nothing could ever defeat me, especially not some stupid fuckin’ memory loss!”

As though he couldn’t help himself, Tubbo returned the smile, although his was still a bit weak in comparison. Taking a step forward, he fiddled with one of his sleeve cuffs and took a deep breath before squaring his shoulders. “Listen, Tommy, we really need to talk. About- well, about everything I guess you forgot.”

Tommy felt rooted to the ground. Absently, he noted that he was feeling a little light-headed. This was probably a common side effect to having your entire world knocked off its axis.

That confirmed it, then. Tubbo knew Tommy. _Really_ knew him, knew the person that, for whatever reason, Tommy himself had forgotten. This was his chance to finally find out about his past, about how he’d ended up alone on the streets with only the clothes on his back and no way of finding his home. Tubbo was the key to begin filling the hole that yawned in his chest, empty and desperate for the missing pieces to just slide back into place. He wanted to be whole again.

More than anything, he wanted to _remember_.

“Tubbo-!” he started, heart pounding in this chest.

“ _There_ you are, Tom!”

Oh, shit. Tommy quickly turned to face the other end of the path. Standing there, arms outstretched as if greeting an old friend, was an unfortunately familiar face.

_Fucking Gary_.

The unwelcome addition sauntered forward, eyes locked on Tommy save for one quick glance at Tubbo, who was partially obscured behind the taller blond. A knowing grin crawled across his face at the sight of Tommy’s expression, which was equal parts irritated and nervous. Gary stopped a short distance away from the pair, and Tommy resisted the urge to back up. Sure, he could handle himself (and _had, on_ more than one occasion, thanks very much) against the bully, but for the first time Tommy had another person to consider. He was very aware of Tubbo’s presence behind him, and the surge of protectiveness that followed almost surprised him. Shaking off his distraction, Tommy forced himself to concentrate on Gary as the other began to speak.

“Been looking all over for ya, mate!” Gary said, a suspicious amount of friendliness coloring his tone. “Really thought we’d lost you there for a minute, but luckily we decided to check one last time before heading out!”

_We?_ Tommy thought, before a slight sound of surprise from Tubbo caught his attention. Looking over his shoulder, Tommy held back a groan as the twins dramatically appeared from behind some of the greenery obscuring the other end of the path. Great, now they were pinned down from both possible exit points. Tommy could have kicked himself for forgetting about the other two boys, who were never found straying far from Gary’s side. A rookie mistake, all things considered.

Gary’s grin grew wider, smug confidence fairly oozing off of him as he encroached even further on Tommy’s personal space. “We never got to finish our conversation earlier, _Toms_.” He said conspiratorially, leaning forward to brush a speck of dirt from Tommy’s shirt. Tommy’s shoe scraped against the walkway as he shifted, and Gary’s hand quickly latched onto a fistful of fabric, yanking the blond forward and away from Tubbo.

“Nah, don’t go running off this time.” The look in Gary’s eye was truly concerning, and Tommy chanced a look back at Tubbo, whose own expression was growing stormier as the situation escalated. Gary followed Tommy’s gaze and, with a jerk of his head, signaled the twins; the two began scurrying over, leaving the pathway clear. “I dunno who you are, but get outta here.” He ordered Tubbo as the twins began snickering, muttering quietly between themselves as they observed Tommy’s predicament. Tubbo didn’t move, fists clenched at his sides, and Gary’s smirk slipped into a frown. His grip on Tommy’s shirt tightened, and one of Tommy’s hands reflexively flew up to grab his wrist.

“Did you fuckin’ hear me?” Gary demanded, glaring at Tubbo now. “I said, _leave_.”

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Tommy’s mind was racing, running through half-baked plans and then discarding them just as quick as every possible option seemed to fall through. It was all beginning to be a bit much; between the random, pounding headaches, the debacle with the statues’ gems, the frantic chase through the conservatory greenhouse, and the unexpected meeting with a piece of his unknown past, it felt like his brain was being overloaded. He didn’t know what to do. Still, even if Tommy himself appeared to be stuck, he knew that getting Tubbo out of harm’s way would lessen his stress levels by at least a couple notches.

“Go on, Tubbo.” He said, struggling to remain nonchalant even as Gary tugged him forward a couple more inches, Tommy stumbling as he did so. “I’ll be fine, obviously. This is nothing I can’t handle on my own.”

No response came from Tubbo, and Tommy took the silence to mean that the kid had already begun making his way out of the tense situation and away from danger. As the twins closed in on either side and Gary wound back his fist, a mean-spirited laugh making its way out of his grinning mouth, he thought only one thing:

_God, this is gonna fucking **suck**_.

Tommy braced himself, eyes closing reflexively in preparation for the blow now hurtling towards his face.

However, against all odds, Gary’s fist never made contact with Tommy’s cheek. Instead, Tommy felt a huge gust of wind blow past his right side, causing him to flinch slightly at the unexpected displacement of air. He then heard rather than saw Gary give an uncharacteristic squawk before the fist gripping on to his shirt was ripped away, the force with which it was removed causing Tommy to fall forward and catch himself on his hands and knees, the gritty dirt strewn across the walkway digging into his palms. Stunned, Tommy looked up to see something completely and wholly unexpected.

That is to say, Tubbo kicking ass like a _fucking badass_.

The shorter boy seemed to have slammed Gary onto his back, where the shock of his abrupt landing had knocked the air out of the bully. He lay there gasping as the twins, clearly unprepared for this type of retaliation, scrambled backwards and away from Tubbo as he stood next to their prone ringleader. Tubbo didn’t hesitate, darting forward and grabbing both boys by their shirts and knocking their heads together with a force that made Tommy wince in reluctant sympathy. Thoroughly discombobulated, the two sunk to the ground and stayed there, gripping their skulls and intermittently letting out pained whines.

Tommy couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. Tubbo- _Tubbo!_ \- had just effortlessly trounced three other people in a ridiculously short amount of time. It was somewhat difficult to reconcile the boy cradling a bee in his hands with the one standing before him now, shoulders rising and falling in time with his agitated breaths. As Tommy stared, Tubbo seemed to successfuly reign himself in after the explosion of energy and blatant violence. Shoulders tense, Tubbo turned and marched back to where Tommy was still on the ground.

Tubbo looked down. Tommy looked up.

A hand was offered.

“It’s always you and me, big man.” Tubbo said quietly as he hauled Tommy to his feet. The pair stood there, surrounded by lush greenery and groans of pain and the quiet hum of bees all around them. “And if there’s one thing you taught me, it’s that nobody gets left behind.”

Without another glance at the three boys still prone on the ground, Tommy and Tubbo made their way down the path and out of sight.

_Nobody gets left behind, huh?_

Tommy smiled.

“Sounds good to me, Tubbo.”

A puzzle piece slots into place, as neatly as if it had never been missing in the first place. The yawning hole in his chest shrinks. And, for the first time since he had awoken, alone and cold and lost in an unfamiliar place, the static in his head grows quieter.

_And just like that, the universe begins to right itself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But the scales are still unbalanced; there are more scores to settle, and more memories to unlock.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! This chapter was a lot of dialogue tho, my bad. Hopefully the formatting doesn’t look like trash and made it all easier to read :// Also, updates will def take a bit longer now bc my winter break is over and I have to go back to having actual responsibilities again lol.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Stay safe and healthy out there!!


	7. Of Guilt & Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into a broken family. A spark of hope. A cut-off connection.

_The door shut softly, but the sound still echoed in the absolute silence covering the room like a blanket, thick and smothering. The torches on the wall flickered, their light barely making a dent in the gloom._

_Dark-wood bookshelves towered overhead, as many as could be packed into the library, and each embossed title on the books’ straight spines glinted in the firelight. However, he wasn’t here for the books. Instead, he was here for the silent figure hidden amongst the shelves._

_He knew where to go, of course. The same spot as always._

_The hard bottoms of his sandals clicked against the floor, a steady_ tap, tap, tap _moving further and further into the veritable maze of shelving and literature. Soon enough, he stopped at the mouth of a particular aisle._

_“There you are.” He said to the man sitting there, posture slumped and shoulders low, back braced against the shelves. There was no response, but that was also expected._

_He moved closer, stopping only a foot or two away. To avoid breaking the silence again, at least for a moment, he trailed a hand down the spine of a particularly weathered book, calloused fingertips catching on each crack and dip in the leather. There were no torches to cast light in this corner of the library, but his eyes were keen enough to make out the title nonetheless._

_‘Theseus and the Minotaur’._

_His heart clenched in his chest, nearly stealing the breath from his lungs, and his hand dropped immediately back to his side. He returned his attention the other man, who had yet to stir at the new presence._

_“Mate, how long have you been in here?” He asked, staring down at the slumped figure cast in shadow. There was a slight rustle of movement, the sound of shifting cloth, but otherwise no indication that his question had been heard._

_He let out a quiet sigh and crouched down, his haori pooling on the ground around his feet. Gently, he reached out to rest a hand on the other’s shoulder; at the contact, the figure finally looked up._

_His hair was a mess, tangled and greasy and hanging limply over one eye; there were noticeable bags under the other. He was pale, even paler than the last time that he’d spent days haunting the aisles of the library, and the sight of his prominent cheekbones was heartbreaking. He obviously hadn’t been eating again._

_“Will,” he said, lightly squeezing the man’s shoulder, “when’s the last time you slept? Or ate, or…?” He trailed off. The dead look in the other’s expression was answer enough._

_“…how could I?”_

_The voice was quiet and raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in a good while._

_“How could I possibly sleep when_ he’s _all that I see?”_

_He closed his eyes, the question threatening to tear his own self-control and calm countenance to shreds. “I know, Will. I miss him too.”_

_The response seemed to incense the other man, whose dull eye gained a spark of anger glinting in its depths. He sat up, twisting his shoulder from the other’s grasp as he did so._

_“Really? You miss him too, huh?” His tone was sharp and biting in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. “Then why- WHY are you sitting here, acting like I’m crazy? Like I should pretend everything is fine, like our family isn’t as BROKEN as it really is?”_

_Each accusation cut like a knife, and he stood, seeking distance from the barrage of sarcastic and bitter questions. The other man quickly followed, stumbling slightly as his numb legs faltered beneath his weight._

_“NO, Philza!” He snarled, steadying himself on the shelves. “You don’t get to run away from this!”_

_The shadows seemed to warp around him, curling around his ankles and laying like a cape across his shoulders. Despite his already tall stature, he seemed to loom even more over the other man, who faced the sight without flinching._

_“He’s gone! He’s been gone for so long, and we still have no idea why he left or where he went! We don’t know if he’s safe, if he’s happy, if he’s even still-!” The flow of words abruptly slammed to a stop._

_Silence fell over the dark aisle once more. His chest rose and fell, and he felt cold. So, so cold._

_“…we don’t even know if he left willingly, Phil.” He said quietly, almost whispering, as if the possibility was too painful to voice any louder. “If he didn’t leave…if he was **taken** …”_

_He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to. It was one that had been haunting them for nearly 200 years, lurking in the backs of their minds and surfacing with a vengeance in the quiet of nighttime. It was always accompanied by a flash of golden hair, bright blue eyes, the fading echo of a laugh like no other._

_‘If he was taken, they had left him to rot.’_

_The pain and grief slammed into him, as fresh and as deep and as gut-wrenching as they were and had been since that terrible, cursed day, and he felt himself sinking into a deep, dark recess of his mind. With great effort, he held himself together despite the waves of guilt crashing over him._

_The other seemed regretful, the same pain clearly visible on his face, and he shuffled towards the shorter man. He stopped only a hair’s breadth away, desperation shining in his visible eye. “I just want him back, Phil.” He admitted, voice gutted. “I just want him to come **home**.”_

_In response, he held out his arms; the taller man hesitated for a single breath, and then crashed into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of his father’s shoulder and holding on for dear life. His frame shook, hands fisted tightly in the well-worn fabric of his haori._

_“I know, mate. I know.”_

_The two clung to each other in the darkness of the library, their shared loss both uniting them and somehow digging a divide at the same time. The shadows surrounded them, cradled and ensconced them in a cool embrace , and it was quiet. And they mourned._

_And then, faintly, gently, the emerald dangling from his ear lit up with a soft, green glow._

* * *

Tubbo and Tommy exited the greenhouse with little fanfare, quickly retracing Tommy’s frantic path and reaching the frosted glass door in record time. Tubbo in particular seemed to navigate the maze of plant life with ease; where Tommy faltered, Tubbo walked on with confidence, leading the way for most of the walk. After slipping out into the still empty hall, the brunet turned to the taller boy at his side.

He hesitated for a moment, something that Tommy picked up on with ease. “Spit it out, Tubbo.” Tommy drawled; he had an inkling of what Tubbo was about to say, and it was definitely something that needed to be discussed sooner rather than later. “Well…it’s about your memory loss.” Tubbo said in a rush, looking up at Tommy.

Yeah, he figured as much.

“You know, I will admit it’s a bit of an issue.” Tommy said, voice purposefully nonchalant before he grinned. “I get the feeling that you might be able to help with that, though, big man. Am I wrong?”

Tubbo returned the smile and, waving Tommy on, continued walking down the hall towards the other exhibit entrances. “You’d be right about that!” He agreed sunnily. “I still don’t really understand why or how your memories got all scrambled, but…” Tubbo spun around to walk backwards while facing Tommy. “I think I may know a guy who could help us out. Memories are kind of his department these days.”

“Oh, really? Like a hypnotist or something? He gonna wave a fuckin’ watch in my face and unlock my brain or some shit?” Tommy asked, intrigued and a bit excited despite himself. Tubbo shook his head. “Nah, less of hypnotist and more of a…keeper, of sorts. S’best description I can think of right now, at least.”

Tommy mulled that over as they continued down the hall. A keeper of memories? Sounded like some nerdy shit to him, but at this point, the sheer elation of finding a link to his past in the form of Tubbo was enough for Tommy to take the chance. “Well, fine!” Tommy exclaimed loudly, voice echoing against the marble walls. “Where do we find this fellow then, eh?”

The two reached the junction on the other end of the hall, and Tommy paused to cautiously peer into the Craft Pantheon exhibit. The general hullabaloo seemed to have died down a bit, but the room itself was still packed with visitors and quite a few more important-looking museum officials than before. He noticed that the three statues had been roped off, two or three employees standing at various points along the barricade, and he swallowed nervously.

However, Tubbo didn’t seem as concerned as he slipped past Tommy and entered the room without a care in the world. Tommy gaped at his back for a moment before scrambling after him, ducking his head down as he hurried to walk at Tubbo’s side.

“Listen, Tubbo, we should probably get out of here sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean.” He muttered to the other boy, who glanced at him with a confused expression. “No, I don’t know what you mean?” Tubbo responded, a questioning note in his voice. Tommy rolled his eyes, spotted a glimpse of a woman looking suspiciously similar to Clara, and quickly returned to staring at the floor. “Well, it’s just that I might’ve- er, well, see those statues over there?”

Tommy jerked his head in the general direction of the scene of the crime, and Tubbo glanced over; weirdly enough, Tommy could see the moment the other boy recognized the three statues and seemed to pale at the sight of them, his steady pace stuttering slightly.

The blond found the reaction a bit weird, but pushed on nonetheless. “Yeah, I was just minding my own business, looking at those three fuckers and wondering why they look so sad ‘n shit, and then the next thing I know they’re cracking apart and everyone was looking at them and at me, and uh-” he broke off, a strange echo of anxiety and fear washing over him.

After a tense moment, Tommy continued. “A-Anyways, everyone was looking at me like I did it, even though I didn’t do _shit_ ,” he stressed, “so it’s probably best for me to stay out of sight, you know?”

Tubbo didn’t respond, and indeed still seemed wholly focused on the three statues; his eyes fell on the little circle of red carpet in the center of their arc, at the epicenter of their marble gazes, and he suddenly inhaled sharply. His hand flew up to clutch at the green fabric of his shirt directly over his heart. Concerned, Tommy placed a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder and jostled him a little less gently than he intended.

Like he had suddenly been doused with a bucket of freezing water, Tubbo shuddered and seemed to come back to himself. He blinked once, twice, and then twisted to stare up at Tommy. The expression on his face- deep sadness mixed with a dawning realization- was truly startling, and Tommy was taken aback. It was like they were back in the greenhouse once more, Tubbo pale and silent and Tommy at a loss as how to respond. How _do_ you respond when someone looks at you like they’re seeing the ghost of someone long dead and gone?

“Tubbo?” He said, hesitantly. “You alright?”

In lieu of waiting for an answer, Tommy made the executive decision to shuffle the two of them off to the side of the room, seeking shelter behind of the big pillars lining the perimeter of the atrium. Once there, Tubbo leaned back against the marble and took a deep breath, obviously seeking to calm himself from the sudden surge of emotion. Tommy tried not to hover, instead pretending to inspect the painting of the goddess he’d stopped at before shit had hit the fan. Under her gaze, Tommy felt calm, and it seemed Tubbo shared the sentiment as he slowly regained control over himself.

“Sorry.” He said eventually, peeking at Tommy from under his fringe. “I-I promise that I’m not always so…uh, emotional. About everything.” Tubbo’s expression was a little sheepish, but at Tommy’s dismissive shrug he grew a little more confident. “It’s just, you know, this room? And you not remembering anything, any of _us_ , even though it’s all around you!” Tubbo grew more impassioned, gesturing with a grand sweep of his arms at the pantheon exhibition dominating the atrium.

A little confused, Tommy let his eyes trail over the room at large before returning to the other boy. “Honestly- and I mean this in the nicest way possible- I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” At Tubbo’s stricken look, Tommy found himself growing a little irritated; he was getting fed up with feeling left in the dark, and each time it seemed as though he had failed to remember some crucial component of his increasingly mysterious past the little ball of guilt nestled in his chest only grew. It pissed him off.

“It’s not my _fault_!”

The words seemed to burst out of him, taking both boys by surprise, but Tommy was never one to back down. “You keep looking at me like that: ‘ _ooh, ooh, poor Tommy, his head’s all fucked up, mehmehmehmehmeh!’_ ” He imitated Tubbo, voice high-pitched and cracking as he devolved into mocking gibberish.

“I didn’t ask to forget! I may not remember everything, Tubbo, but I know that. I _know_ that. I would never, ever turn my back on you like that.” His thin chest heaved from emotion; Tommy knew he probably looked a little frenzied, Tubbo’s wide eyes confirming the notion. “I didn’t mean to forget you, man, but I just don’t see how a bunch of old statues and shit could possibly help me to remember.”

A tense silence fell over them. Tommy stared determinedly out over the crowd, ignoring the prickling in the corners of his eyes. He could faintly see Tubbo out of his peripheral vision, and after a few moments the boy moved. Tommy stopped himself from jolting when arms encircled him; looking down in shock, he saw a messy head of brown hair pressed against his shoulder. He felt warm despite the initial surprise.

He pointedly ignored the voice whispering in his head, musing about how _long_ it had been since someone had last touched him with no ill intent, let alone to give him a _hug_ of all things.

After a few moments, Tubbo let his arms drop and backed away, determinedly scrubbing a hand across his eyes before locking gazes with Tommy, who still felt a little shell-shocked.

“I’m sorry.” He said sincerely. “Really, Tommy, I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel like this was your fault. I know that it’s not.”

Tommy could tell that the words were genuine and he nodded in response, acknowledging the apology.

Tubbo let out a slow, controlled breath and tugged his shirt down, absently brushing out its wrinkles as he thought for a moment. Appearing to come to a decision, Tubbo once again gestured out into the exhibition room.

“And I know you don’t remember, and that’s not your fault, but please believe me. Please.” The brunet’s expression was as serious as Tommy had ever seen it. “Everything you see around you: all of this art, and the people that this art was created for, and these so-called _myths_ that make up the Pantheon itself; all of this is yours, Tommy. It’s a part of you. It _is_ you.”

He turned to face Tommy completely, face cast in half-shadow as the looming pillar blocked the sunlight flooding the room. “Maybe you don’t remember, but there must be a part of you that that recognizes it. Please, some part of you _must_ remember our home, our family.”

Tommy stared at Tubbo. Indeed, part of him realized that what Tubbo was saying, crazy as it sounded, felt _right_. He recalled his inherent draw to the Pantheon, the stirrings of familiarity as he wandered the exhibit, the sadness that had washed over him after seeing the desperation of those damn statues.

_What did you lose?_

That’s what he had asked, right? Staring into the frozen eyes of the Deathless One, for whatever reason, Tommy had just known that the three gods had lost something incredibly important to them. Why had that been his first thought? How could he have known?

Even as his mind strained to connect the pieces, the familiar pressure at his temples signaled the arrival of yet another headache. However, this one was significantly more severe than any he’d had before, and he felt his knees go a bit weak as the pain crashed over him. Tubbo made a concerned noise, but Tommy couldn’t acknowledge it. It was getting harder and harder to think coherently amidst the pounding of his head.

Strangely, the more his attention turned away from thoughts of the Pantheon and his apparent connection to it and its deities, the more his sudden headache faded away, until eventually it was gone with only an echo of the pain left behind. He brought a hand up to cradle the side of his head, Tubbo at his side with a supporting grip on his arm.

“What the fuck?” Tommy breathed, blinking the spots out of his vision. “Why did I…wait, what were we talkin’ about?”

Tubbo looked grim.

“God, this is worse than I thought.” He muttered, scanning Tommy’s face and grimacing at the dazed look in his eyes. “It’s like you’re being blocked from reaching those memories or something. I’ve never seen _anything_ like this before.” Although his tone betrayed his nerves, Tubbo seemed more determined than ever. Nodding his head to himself, he used his hold on Tommy’s bicep to begin leading the blond through the crowd and out of the atrium.

“C’mon, Tommy. We’re gonna go speak to the minutes man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated!! Yay!!! I missed working on this but training has been keeping me busy all week; found some free time though, hence the chapter!
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments! I don’t really have a lot of this strictly plotted out tbh, but I hope y’all still enjoy it as it comes! I’m more or less in the same boat :)
> 
> Also: this isn’t beta read at all lol, so I keep catching all my mistakes and typos after it’s posted. I usually correct them as I notice, but sorry if this is annoying to anyone following the story!! I’ll try to improve my proof-reading skills
> 
> *Edited: 2/19/21


	8. Of Clocks...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy & Tubbo have a day out on the town, and a new player enters the scene.

In the end, the boys only exchanged one crowd for another. With Tubbo navigating the pair through the museum, keeping an eye out for potential trouble and keeping a solid grasp on Tommy’s wrist, they eventually made their way through the museum’s lobby and out of the grand entrance doors. The bustling world outside was now overcast, the sun hidden behind thick, grey clouds, and a few pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk had closed umbrellas in their hands, ready to be used at the first sign of rain.

Visitors entering and exiting the museum flowed around Tommy and Tubbo as they paused at the stop of the stairs. As Tubbo scanned the road below, Tommy was slowly emerging out of the daze that the mysterious migraine had induced. While he still couldn’t quite remember what they had been talking about while in the Craft Pantheon exhibit, the last thing that Tubbo had said somehow managed to register through the haze of pain.

“Tubbo?” He said, slipping out of Tubbo’s grasp, feeling a little awkward at the contact now that he was steady on his own feet. “What d’you mean by ‘minutes man’?”

The other boy gave an absent-minded hum, eyes tracking a double-decker bus trundling down the road in front of the museum. He look contemplative for a moment, and then seemed to dismiss the idea before returning his attention to Tommy’s question.

“Oh, y’know- well, actually, I guess you don’t.” He said a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck at Tommy’s flat expression. “Erm, he’s the guy I was telling you about earlier, the one who might be able to figure out why your memories are all scrambled up.” Apparently deciding that this was enough of an explanation, he tugged once on Tommy’s sleeve and began trotting down the stairs, leaving Tommy to scramble after him.

“What, that keeper of memories bloke you mentioned?” Tommy asked, following Tubbo’s lead and weaving between the incoming tourists and school groups flooding into the museum behind them. “I still have no idea what you’re on about, by the way, and frankly I’m a little tired of it.” He informed the other boy in a slightly demanding tone. Tubbo gave a rueful smile and a shrug of his shoulders as they set off down the sidewalk, heading deeper into the city with every twist and turn.

“I know, big man, but I don’t really think I can do anything about that right now.” Tubbo responded with an apologetic expression, but quickly continued before Tommy could break into rant about where exactly he could shove that pity. “If you can, just trust me for a little while longer. I really, truly think that we may find some answers once we get to his shop.”

In the face of Tubbo’s earnestness, Tommy lapsed into silence. For a while the boys continued on without speaking, allowing the ambient noises of the cityscape to fill the space between them; the constant, dull roar of chattering voices, the rumbling of the cars and buses, and the quiet chimes of storefront bells tinkling with every customer’s entrance and exit was familiar to Tommy in a way that not much else was at the moment. It helped to ground him in the face of the general uncertainty and disorientation that had suddenly flooded his senses ever since he and Tubbo had locked eyes in the greenhouse.

Tommy couldn’t help but look back on the recent events with a touch of skepticism. Really, he couldn’t help it. His time at the group home had endowed him with a proclivity for cynicism, a general unwillingness to take the good without immediately being on the lookout for the bad surely festering underneath.

Tubbo kept talking about concepts that Tommy, for the life of him, couldn’t remember ever encountering: things like truth, and answers, and (god fucking forbid) _trust_. Things that he didn’t have the luxury of owning, things that could get a kid like him hurt in the blink of an eye. A part of Tommy wanted to run away, back to Clara and the group home and everything that had become his entire world over the past few months.

A louder part of Tommy insisted that running away was for pussies.

Some of the stuff that Tubbo represented to him was scary- Tommy was man enough to admit that- purely because of how _badly_ it would hurt when it all faded away again.

Still.

Tommy would take a hundred beatings from somebody like Gary if it meant Tubbo would be at his side to help him back up. He would break a hundred priceless artifacts if it meant there would be trusted friends ready to bail him out, no matter how badly he had fucked up.

He would take whatever pain and heartbreak that lay on the road ahead if it meant his family would be found at the end, arms outstretched to welcome him home again.

At his side, oblivious to Tommy’s resolute inner-monologue, Tubbo gasped and once more reached out to excitedly tug on Tommy’s sleeve. “Look, Tommy, there it is!” He exclaimed, pointing across the road. While Tubbo bounced in place, spamming the crosswalk button on the street corner, Tommy craned his neck to peer between the cars trundling by. In between each vehicle, he was able to catch flashes of a small, dark storefront nestled in-between two much taller and admittedly more modern looking buildings.

He didn’t have much more time to observe the building before Tubbo was zipping to the other side of the street. Naturally, Tommy followed; without the traffic blocking his view, he was able to see the store in much more detail.

The first thing he really noticed about it was how much it stuck out. The city that Tommy lived in, though a bit small, was still relatively urban and contemporary. It had tall, multi-story buildings with gleaming windows from top to bottom, trendy cafes mixed with commercial chains, and an overall aesthetically sharp and clean look in terms of architecture (with the museum being one of the only exceptions).

In comparison, the little shop that Tommy and Tubbo now stood in front of looked as though it had been picked up and dropped into the heart of the city. In the simplest of terms, it looked out of place, a noticeable aberration in the modern landscape.

It was flanked by a pair of buildings, each at least 10 stories high and obviously used as office space for some company or corporation. They were square and dull and utterly unremarkable, the only eye-catching attribute being the tiny store cradled between them. The shop itself had an antique look about it, all dark wood panelling and ornamental molding with a large glass display window situated smack dab in the middle of the storefront. Through the glass Tommy could see _clocks_ , of all things, some hanging and some displayed on black and white velvet cushions scattered around the case. They were all different shapes and sizes and models, each resolutely ticking away as time marched on.

A sign was mounted at the top, its gold lettering serving as a slightly weathered but still gleaming beacon among the gray backdrop of the city.

“The Tick-Tock Shop?” Tommy read aloud, wrinkling his nose with disgust. “What the fuck, Tubbo? Why have you dragged me to a damn clock store?”

Tubbo, ignoring his companion’s disdain, gestured grandly to the ancient-looking store with a bright grin. “This, Tommy, is where we might find the solution to your memory problem!”

He led Tommy to the small, paneled door to the left of the big display case, where a little sign hung crookedly in the door’s window: _Welcome!_ , it cheerily proclaimed. _Fuck you_ , Tommy thought reflexively as Tubbo pushed the door open and a tiny bell rang out to announce their entrance.

The interior was just as small and cramped as one would expect. Wooden shelves were packed into the space, forming narrow aisles of merchandise so cramped that Tommy, as skinny as he was, felt a little wary at the thought of trying to squeeze down a row. The low ceiling didn’t help with the feeling of confinement either, and combined with the shop’s relatively dim lighting that left many of the far corners darkened in shadow, Tommy felt the stirrings of claustrophobia threatening to rear up. Still, he pushed down those unpleasant feelings as Tubbo approached the small counter situated almost immediately to the right of the entrance.

There was nobody sitting behind the counter, but both boys quickly noticed the gleaming bell situated near the clunky register on its surface. Tommy and Tubbo glanced at each other before they both immediately lunged forward, grappling and pushing as each boy tried to slam their hand down on the bell. Eventually Tommy, utilizing his long reach, managed to plant a hand on Tubbo’s head and shove him down while simultaneously slapping his other hand on the bell’s button.

The resulting chime echoed loudly in the quiet shop, taking Tommy and Tubbo by surprise. The pair stood a little awkwardly by the counter, glancing around the shop in search of some sign that the place was actually open for business.

Tommy turned his back completely to the counter for a moment in order to squint into the darkness at the back of the store, and was just in the process of swiveling around to complain to Tubbo when his heart nearly stopped in his chest. Behind the counter was now a lanky figure perched on a rickety stool, strange purple particles fading away into nothingness into the surrounding air.

As Tommy sputtered in surprise at the other’s sudden appearance, Tubbo seemed much less fazed. “Ranboo!” He crowed, slapping his hands down on the counter in excitement. “How ya been, man? Watcha been up to? Been anywhere cool lately?”

“Uh, hello!” Ranboo said, looking a bit overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions from the brunet. “I’ve been good, mostly been busy running the shop, and honestly, I don’t really remember!”

Tubbo and Ranboo continued catching up as Tommy took the opportunity to observe the new arrival. He was tall- even taller than Tommy, which felt _very illegal and rude and not at all allowed_ \- and skinny, with floppy blonde hair that fell over his forehead. For whatever reason, he was also wearing sunglasses despite the dim lighting of the store as well as a mask, neatly divided into black and white and tugged firmly over his nose; Tommy felt immediately suspicious and shifted closer to Tubbo. The movement caught Ranboo’s attention and he shifted on his stool to face Tommy.

“Tubbo, who’s this?” He asked curiously, tilting his head. “You’ve never brought a stranger to my shop before.”

Tommy returned the stare, expression purposefully blank.

In comparison, Tubbo was noticeably unsettled by Ranboo’s question before his mouth fell open a little, eyes brightening with comprehension.

“Ohhh, that’s right! I s’pose it has been awhile since you two have spoken…” he trailed off at the confusion from both Ranboo and Tommy. Tubbo scrubbed a hand through his hair and thought for a moment before nodding to himself, shifting forward to brace an arm against the counter and gesturing at Ranboo to lean in closer.

Ranboo helpfully did so.

“Listen, Ranboo: we need your help. Tommy here is having some trouble with his memories and he really, really needs to remember. Like, as soon as possible, in fact.”

Tubbo’s voice was quiet but serious, which Ranboo seemed to pick up on immediately. Tommy couldn’t really tell because of the sunglasses, but it seemed as though the other boy glanced over at him once more before replying.

“Not gonna lie, Tubbo, I’m a little confused at the urgency here.” As he spoke, Ranboo slipped off the stool and padded around to the other side of the counter, gesturing towards the back of the shop.

“But if you need help, I’m here. Follow me, fellas.”

* * *

Tommy shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t his chair that was problem as much as the tense atmosphere that had fallen over the trio after Ranboo had escorted them to the backroom of the shop. The room appeared to serve as a combination storage and break area, with cabinets and cardboard boxes lining the walls and a few chairs arranged around a little table in the center of the room. It was at that table that Tommy and Tubbo now sat as Ranboo puttered around, shuffling through boxes and muttering to himself as he examined various leather-bound journals before putting them aside and moving to a new box.

“Tubbo, this guy is a little peculiar.” He muttered out of the corner of his mouth, keeping a wary eye trained on the taller boy on the other side of the room. “I reckon he’s a bit of a wrong ‘un.”

“Nahhh, don’t be silly!” Tubbo admonished, apparently not as concerned with Ranboo’s quiet running commentary. “Ranboo’s really nice, I swear. He’s always been super helpful to me, plus he’s gotten really close with-” The brunet suddenly cut himself off, swallowing whatever he’d been about to say and eyeing Tommy a little nervously. Tommy returned the weird look.

“Really close with _huh_?” He repeated. “Finish the thought, Tubbo, seriously.”

Tubbo visibly wrestled with himself for a moment, looking skyward as if searching for guidance from some higher power. Evidently, he didn’t receive a response and eventually let out an explosive sigh. The sound caught Ranboo’s attention, who paused in his search to look curiously in the pair’s direction.

“When you…” Tubbo hesitated, “…uh, when you _left_ , we were all kind of lost for awhile, I guess you could say. We felt untethered, and angry, and sad, and scared, all because we didn’t know where you’d went or even _why_.”

The boy stared down at the table, absentmindedly tracing the grain running along its wooden surface with his fingers. “Everyone back home was affected in one way or another, but um…I suppose it was me and the others who took it the hardest.”

Tommy had to swallow a couple times before speaking, his mouth suddenly dry. “The others?” He asked, barely resisting the urge to hold his breath. He was laser-focused on Tubbo, and consequently didn’t notice Ranboo, who had gone completely still while listening to the conversation.

Tubbo took a deep breath. “Yeah. The others. Your family, Tommy.”

“My family?” Tommy whispered, as though saying it any louder would shatter the fragile hope that was budding in his chest.

The brunet nodded, a timid smile on his face.

“Of course. Of course, man, your family; you’ve got two brothers and a dad and-” Tubbo grinned wider, reaching out and touching Tommy’s trembling hand. “They miss you so, so much. They never stopped looking for you, and neither did I.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on!”

Tommy and Tubbo turned in tandem to look at Ranboo, who had surged forward and nearly crashed into a chair before catching himself on its back and teetering in place. “Tubbo, wait, are you saying this is _him_? Y-You actually found him?”

Ranboo whipped the sunglasses off of his face and Tommy couldn’t help the surprised squeak that escaped him at the sight of the other’s heterochromatic eyes, one a blazing red and the other a verdant green, as the taller boy wildly scanned Tommy from head to toe. He began muttering to himself again (and this time Tommy could pick up a few words, like _burning_ and _loyalty_ and _exile_ ), running a hand through his wild hair and spinning back to the boxes, digging through them with even more fervor than before.

The other two boys exchanged glances as books began flying through the air, landing with soft thumps all around the room as a result of Ranboo’s mad search. After a few more moments, Ranboo let out a victorious noise and held a particular journal aloft, hurrying back to the table and flinging himself into a chair so violently that it nearly tipped itself and him onto the floor.

Seemingly unconcerned, Ranboo steadied himself and began flipping through the journal, ignoring Tubbo’s concerned “Uh, Ranboo?” and reading each page with an almost blinding speed. Finally, he stopped and stared at something in the journal for a long moment before looking up and staring intently at Tommy. He switched between looking at Tommy and whatever was in the journal a few more times before nodding rapidly. “I-It really is him! Gods, you actually found him…”

Unable to contain himself any longer and feeling supremely fed up with the dramatics, Tommy leaned forward and snatched the journal from Ranboo, settling back into his chair with an irritated huff. “What the fuck are you on about?” He muttered, turning his own attention to the book in his hands.

It was obviously very old; the pages were made of a thick, yellowed parchment, their edges somewhat frayed and curled despite the obvious care that had gone into the journal’s preservation. And there on the page, depicted in dark, bold lines of ink, was Tommy.

Or at least some guy who looked eerily similar to him.

The little portrait only depicted him from the chest up, and his face was turned slightly to the side, but the similarities between the Tommy on the page and the Tommy gripping the journal were startling: they had the same unruly hair, the same chin, the same shit-eating grin. Really, the only noticeable difference was that the illustration seemed to be wearing robes of some kind.

“Whaaaat the fuuuuck…” Tommy breathed, tearing himself away from the journal to stare at Ranboo and Tubbo with wide eyes. “What is this? Why is there a bloody portrait of me in this book?”

Tubbo opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Ranboo, who was all but vibrating with excitement in his seat across the little table. “That’s one of my memory journals!” He explained, heterochromatic eyes crinkled with the force of his smile (not that they could see that smile anyway, what with the mask and all). “Specifically, it’s the very last one I was able to complete before your disappearance!”

“My fucking _what_?” Tommy shouted reflexively. “My _huh_?”

He swung his head to stare incredulously at Tubbo, who now appeared rather tense in the face of Ranboo’s misplace enthusiasm.

For his part, Ranboo now seemed a little confused. “Y-Yeah? Y’know, after everything that happened with George’s house and the mock trial and then…”

He stopped speaking abruptly, a haunted look overtaking his face. The taller boy sat silently for a few moments before taking a deep breath.

“Then you left with him. With **D̸̛̠̟͗̿̇̕r̴͎̝̙͈̦̤͍̋͒̅̔͒ͅę̸̩̹̻͍͚̈́̓̆͘a̵̦̹̮͕̫͕͚̗̻̘̩̖̥͐̀́̉̈̏m̴͙̹̮̱͖̏͋̒̅̎̃̽͂͐̍̋̕͝͝ͅ**. And you never came back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the Tick-Tock Shop a reference to Ranboo’s iconic vids on TikTok? Yes. And I’m proud of myself for it lmao
> 
> Heyyy, all! Long time no see! I’m so sorry for the huge gap between chapters. College has really been kicking my ass and I have literally had no time to do anything but work and do homework for the past few weeks.
> 
> I’ll try to hash out some sort of writing schedule, but unfortunately I don’t have a definitive idea of when I’ll be able to update again. I tried to make this chapter a little bit longer because I took forever, but sorry if it’s kinda boring!
> 
> ALSO that Disc War finale????? Holy shit. Def will incorporate some lines from it in the future.


	9. ...and of Crowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo is a mighty morphin’ tall boi and Tommy gets a peek behind the veil.

Dimly, Tommy registered the cool surface of the table pressed against his cheek.

It took him a bit longer than he’d like to admit to realize that this was because he was now slumped over the tabletop; when _that_ had happened, he honestly had no clue. All Tommy could remember was that one moment he’d been sitting there, listening to _somebody_ talk about _something_ , and then a split-second later it was as though his strings had been cut, causing him to fall limply against the table and momentarily lose consciousness.

He felt the warmth of Tubbo’s hands, one gripping his shoulder and the other on the bowed line of his spine, shaking him as gently as the brunet could while somewhat losing his cool. “Tommy!” Tubbo exclaimed, nerves causing his voice to shake. “Tommy, are you okay?”

At the sound of Tubbo’s panic, Tommy found the strength to push himself back up; luckily, Tubbo was ready and helped him to gently settle against the back of the chair once more. He blinked hard a couple of times to get rid of his slightly blurry vision and rubbed at his forehead, which was sore from where he’d apparently hit the table in a dead faint.

Meanwhile, Ranboo was halfway out of his chair as though he was in the process of leaping up to help, but under Tommy’s scrutinizing gaze he slowly sunk back into his seat, nervously drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

“Alright, I’m fully sick of this shit now.” Tommy ground out, lightly shrugging his shoulder out from under Tubbo’s concerned grasp. “It’s obvious that I’ve got fuckin’ ghosts in me head and I want them out, _now_.”

Without breaking eye contact, Tommy shoved the journal back across the table. The other boy quickly scooped it up, holding it to his chest protectively as Tommy continued glowering at the sweating shopkeep. “Tubbo said that you’re some memory keeper, right? Then do your damn job and fix my memories before I start stabbing shit!”

“I-I-…” the lanky boy stuttered, nervous gaze flickering between the pair; the mutinous look on Tommy’s face and Tubbo’s preoccupation with keeping Tommy upright in his chair offered him no support, and it was with noticeable effort that Ranboo wrestled down his growing anxiety. He gripped the journal tighter, knuckles taut beneath the fabric of his gloves. “It’s true that memories are my domain but it’s, uh, not that easy?”

Before Tommy could explode into a profanity-laced tirade, Ranboo stood up from the table, bracing on hand on the back of his chair as he began to explain.

“See, the thing with memories is that they’re constantly in flux, right? New ones are being made, old ones are fading or distorting or vanishing completely; memories are a lot of things, but they’re not exactly static.”

He left the table and strode over to the other side of the room, neatly tucking the journal into some inner pocket of his jacket in the process. Tommy and Tubbo watched as Ranboo started rifling through the cabinets and pulling out a variety of objects: a couple more of the battered journals, a rough wooden bowl, various chunks of dark rock… each one was inspected for moment before being placed down on the counter and forgotten in favor of rooting around for another seemingly random item.

“It sounds like a lot to process, but luckily most people just have to handle the weight of their own memories.” Ranboo gave a rueful shrug of his shoulders. “Unfortunately, my situation is a little different.”

The lanky shopkeep took the bowl and moved over to the tiny sink set into the counter. Tubbo and Tommy couldn’t quite see, but they heard the squeak of a handle and the rush of water. It ran for a few seconds, and then Ranboo turned with the now filled bowl cradled carefully in his hands. Setting it down gingerly onto the table, he scurried back to the counter to grab the rest of his strange lineup and busily began arranging the dark rock chunks around the bowl.

“What do you mean, it’s a different for you?” Tommy asked, curiously prodding at one of the rocks; its smooth, glossy surface was cool against his skin, warming slightly at his touch. Ranboo absentmindedly swatted at his hand and ignored the blond’s squawk of outrage. He inspected the layout of the table- the water-filled bowl in the center with the rocks carefully arranged in a circle around it- and then nodded, rounding the table to place one the journals in front of Tommy.

Tommy opened it immediately, but deflated after seeing that the book was completely blank inside.

“How much as Tubbo told you about me, exactly?” Ranboo questioned in lieu of answering, glancing at the boy in question.

Tubbo wiggled his hand in a so-so motion, looking a little conflicted. “I told him that you’re the minutes man and whatnot, but I’ve been kind of limited on what I can say without triggering whatever it is that’s blocking his memories.” He explained with a frown. “It’s almost like there’s a filter that catches all the important bits before he can put the pieces together.”

Something about that caught Tommy’s attention and he straightened from where he’d been slumped over, resting his head against his fist and flipping through the pages of the journal at a rapid pace. “Yeah, wait, he’s right! You said something earlier, and it’s like me brain started glitching out!”

Ranboo gave a considering hum, one gloved finger poised against his chin. “Alright, then.” He said, moving back to the cupboards one last time and returning with an armful of candles, all varying heights and sizes and alternating between black and white wax. “Memories can be triggered in all sorts of ways. Smells, tastes, stuff like that. If just trying to _tell_ him about his past doesn’t work, we might be able to dig them back up through different means.”

He sat down in his chair, and the moment he did so the lights in the room suddenly dimmed. It would have been pitch-black if not for the glow from the candles that had just as suddenly burst into flame, making Tommy jump. As if the situation wasn’t already wildly unsettling enough, the flickering flames were not of a familiar gold; instead, they burned a dark, vibrant purple. In the quiet of the room they could be heard faintly sputtering, occasionally bending under a slight breeze and sending dim lilac trails wafting through the air. Subconsciously, Tommy noted that those dimly glowing particles looked eerily similar to those that had surrounded Ranboo earlier, after the boy had suddenly appeared behind the counter without warning.

Ranboo’s voice broke him out the reverie Tommy had unwittingly slipped into, gazing at the candles’ flames.

“You asked why memories are different for me as opposed to most people.” The other boy said quietly, eyes glinting in candlelight. Tommy stared as Ranboo reached up and hooked a finger onto his face mask.

“The short answer is that I’m not most people.”

He pulled the mask down.

* * *

_“…and has he said anything yet?”_

_“No, not a word. All he’s done is stare and blink since Winters picked him up this morning.”_

_The quiet conversation was barely audible above the general bustle of the station, but he heard them all the same. He stared down at his lap where his hands lay, loosely bunched into the red fabric of his robes._

_‘That’s odd.’ He thought, suddenly aware that his clothing looked nothing like those of the various strangers packed into the building, and certainly not like the so-called “officer” that had escorted him to this place in the first place._

_His head felt oddly heavy, his thoughts sluggish and scattered. Nothing felt real, he didn’t feel real, and only the weirdly artificial layer of calm blanketing his mind kept him from panicking._

_Movement caught his eye and he looked up. The woman from before was standing in front of him, a clipboard held under one arm and hugged to her side. She had a pleasant look about her, but something in him whispered not to take such things as face value. His hands gripped his robes a bit tighter._

_“Hello again.” She said, inclining her head in greeting. “How are you feeling? Are you getting warmed up?”_

_A moment of silence passed as she waited for a response that never came. She pursed her lips in consideration. “…would it be alright if I sat in the chair next to you?”_

_He blinked, glanced over to his right and back at the woman; he hesitated but eventually shrugged, unconsciously tensing up as she settled into the plastic chair. The clipboard now lay on her lap and she rested her clasped hands on its surface, attention fully focused on him._

_“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now, but I promise you that I’m here to help.” The woman said earnestly. “Can you tell me what happened to you? How did you end up on that road?”_

_He ignored the feeling of her eyes on his face, choosing instead to stare out over the sea of activity dominating the rest of the room. He watched the people lining up near the entrance he’d been escorted through hours before, the officers filling out sheets of paper and occasionally talking to those people waiting in the chairs like him. One officer walked past him, only inches away, and the smell of smoke practically slapped him in the face as she complained about “damn kids playing like wannabe arsonists”._

_He couldn’t breathe._

_Smoke meant fire. Fire was bad. Fire sparked and consumed and burned like the accusing stares directed his way, but it was an accident, but nobody believed him, but nobody saw but the only other person possibly even more scared than him, but he couldn’t throw him to the wolves to save his own skin because he was loyal, he was loyal, he was Loyalty-_

_But nobody was listening._

_They saw the world in black or white, right or wrong, guilty or innocent, friend or traitor._

_A monochromatic world has no place for a colorful mistake like him._

_The pain in his head leached the colors away, and they dripped down, down, down the drain with the rest of him._

* * *

Black and white.

That’s the first thing that Tommy’s mind latched onto as Ranboo’s mask fell soundlessly to the tabletop. The moment that the fabric stopped obstructing the boy’s face, it was as if a larger shroud had been thrown off the rest of him as well.

Gone was the floppy blond hair- the general unruliness was the same, but it was now split neatly down the middle in equal sections of black and white. The tips of his ears, now long and pointed, poked out a bit from under his mop of hair. His formerly pale skin was the same, one half now a ghostly white and the other a pure black, a few splashes of each color sprinkled on its opposing half in manner very reminiscent to freckles. The vibrant red and green of his eyes seemed to burn all the brighter now.

Tommy registered that his neck was cramping slightly as he craned his head back to observe the transformation, and realized that Ranboo also seemed to have sprouted up at least another foot, now legitimately towering over Tommy and practically dwarfing Tubbo.

Ranboo’s eyes crinkled slightly, and now that the mask was gone Tommy could actually see his smile, the nervous, fanged thing that it was. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.” He said sheepishly. “You feeling okay? Need a minute?”

Tommy’s mouth worked uselessly for a few moments as he switched between staring at Ranboo, the magically transforming cashier, and Tubbo, who stared back more or less completely unfazed. He seemed much more concerned about Tommy and far too nonchalant about his other friend’s abrupt metamorphosis.

“…what the fuck.” The blond said eventually. “I- just-….”

The chair legs made a horrendous screeching sound against the floor as he launched himself up, slamming his hands down on the table.

“WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKIN’ DOMINO THAT GOT CURSED BY A WITCH, HUH? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?”

Ranboo held his hands up in a mock surrender as Tubbo tugged Tommy back down, ignoring the way the blond hissed and slapped at his grip. “I’m not cursed, I promise! And I’m also not a… domino?” He insisted, although his voice gained a slightly confused tone near the end. “Look, just hear me out, okay?”

Tommy was about to spring out of his chair again, but the hand on his shoulder stalled him for a moment. He looked over at Tubbo.

“It’s alright, big man.” He said, squeezing Tommy’s shoulder. “It’s like I said earlier: just trust me for a little while longer.”

Tommy groaned, dragging a hand down his face, and then slumped down in his chair, crossing his arms with a petulant air about him. As Ranboo stared at him, waiting, Tommy sarcastically waved a hand in his direction. “Fuck it, fine. Explain yourself, _Ranboob_.”

Ranboo cleared his throat, wincing a bit at the deliberate butchering of his name.

“As you might have guessed, this is what I really look like,” he began, gesturing at himself, “but for obvious reasons I can’t walk around the mortal world looking like this. My mask helps to, well, _mask_ my true form, so I can still run my shop and move around without inciting any rabid mobs to hunt me down. It normally doesn’t work on beings like us, of course, but I suppose that the filter that’s been shoved in your mind helps to block out anything unusual anyway.”

Tommy swallowed nervously. “‘Beings like us’? ‘Mortal world?’ You’re not making any fucking sense, man. You’re talking like you’re- like _I’m_ not-…”

He cut himself off at the first nudge of pain in his head, eyes wide in disbelief. Beside him, Tubbo nodded encouragingly at Ranboo, hand still a steady weight on Tommy’s thin shoulder. “Go on then, Ranboo!” The brunet urged. “Work your magic!”

Nodding, Ranboo reached into his jacket and dug around in the same pocket that he’d shoved the journal in earlier. However, what he pulled out instead was a golden crown, shining and bejeweled and entirely too big to have come out of such a tiny space. He lowered the crown onto his head, and the jewels embedded into it began gently glowing the minute it made contact. “Okay, Tommy. We’re gonna try something now, and if it all goes well we should be able to take down whatever barrier is blocking access to your memories.”

Ranboo reached out across the table, palm upturned, and Tommy could see claws glinting in the light of the candles. He looked calm but serious, his voice sincere and steady.

“Are you ready?”

Tommy stared at his hand and didn’t move for a few long moments. Beside him, Tubbo held his breath. The room was quiet.

His shaking hand clasped Ranboo’s, and despite his nerves Tommy felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest.

“Let’s do this, big man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super satisfied w this, honestly, but I’m just gonna post it anyway :’) I think I’m screwing the pacing up, but ohhhh welllll!
> 
> Over the next few days I might be going back through previous chapters and editing a bit, because every time I see a mistake a little piece of my soul shrivels away lmao.
> 
> ALSO: I have a (kinda rough) list of the characters and their different godly domains. I know I’m taking like 500 years to advance the plot when it comes to those aspects, so if y’all want I could add this to a series and leave the list in the description, if that makes sense! I might make a series anyway bc I have one specific story idea abt how Tommy and Tubbo actually met for the first time. Let me know what you guys think!!


	10. A Trip Down Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo is a licensed hypnotist, Tommy takes a trip, and Tubbo’s just happy to be here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some descriptions of blood

“So, uh, Ranboo…” Tommy said after a few moments of sitting hand-in-hand with Ranboo, noting with some embarrassment that his hand was growing somewhat sweaty in the other’s grasp due to his nervousness. “How exactly does this whole thing work?”

“Without going into _too_ much detail, it’s probably easiest to think of this as a sort of hypnosis session.” Ranboo responded, squeezing Tommy’s hand reassuringly. “I’ll help you relax and, eventually, you’ll find yourself in a state where you’re not quite awake, but not totally asleep either. The whole point is to get you comfortable to the point where you can sink into your subconscious, and from there I can guide you to where you need to go. You have the control in your mind, so you should be able to remove whatever barrier has sprung up in there.”

As Tommy digested this, he glanced over at Tubbo, who was leaning forward in his own chair with obvious anticipation. Tommy jabbed him with a bony elbow and the other boy jumped, hand flying up to grip the point of contact. “OW, Tommy, what the hell?” He yelped, fixing the other with a betrayed look. “Tubbo, you bitch, I _asked_ you if this was gonna be some hypnotist-type shit, but _nooooo_ , Ranboo’s a ‘ _memory keeper_ ’.” Tommy snapped back; bickering with Tubbo made him feel a bit less on edge, and he snickered as Tubbo huffed, still rubbing the sore spot on his bicep.

However, his attention was pulled back to Ranboo as the other boy flipped their connected hands before retracting his, leaving Tommy’s hand facing palm up. Ranboo then tugged off his gloves, clicking his tongue in dismay as he saw the small puncture holes at each fingertip. Catching Tommy’s bemused look, Ranboo shrugged sheepishly. “I always forget that my gloves don’t exactly grow with me.”

He dropped the gloves in an out of the way spot on the table, which was somewhat hard to accomplish considering all the rocks and candles and the water-filled bowl occupying much of the space. He then reached back across the table; this time, one hand supported Tommy’s while the other hovered just above the blond’s pointer finger. A small claw gently scraped against his fingertip and Tommy swallowed, a knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

“So, onto the less fun part of this little procedure.” Ranboo said, deliberately making eye contact with Tommy once more. “I’m afraid that I’m gonna need a tiny bit of your blood for this to work, Tommy.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Tommy exclaimed, determinedly ignoring the high pitch of his voice. His hand twitched in Ranboo’s hold, but the taller boy didn’t tighten his grip, didn’t try to stop Tommy from pulling away. The lack of response kept Tommy from yanking himself free, but he knew that his face was mixture of appalled, disgusted, and ( _not at all_ ) a bit frightened. “I get that you’ve got fangs and all, man, but please tell me you’re not some kind of fuckin’ vampire or some shit, I will stab you with a stake so fast you won’t have time to even _think_ about stopping me.”

“No, no, no, I’m not a vampire!” Ranboo quickly assured him, chuckling a little nervously. “I-I don’t mean that I need your blood for, like, sustenance or anything, gods! It’s just that it’s the most accurate way to record your memories in the journal, see?”

Tommy had forgotten about that empty book, and sure enough, when he looked down he saw it spread open on the table, blank pages illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

“Plain ink is fine in most cases, but when it comes to something like this, blood is an important conduit. It’s a part of you, and it’s always been a part of you, even the you that’s been forgotten. The blood never forgets, Tommy. It just can’t.”

“I’m so fucking creeped out right now, you’re a real freak, pal.” Tommy breathed, staring at the claw hovering above his fingertip with an almost horrified fascination. He waited for it to descend and for the pain it would bring, but it didn’t move. He looked back up at Ranboo, who was still focused solely on his face.

“I’m not gonna do this if you’re not comfortable, Tommy.” Ranboo said seriously. “If you want to back out, we can try to find another way. I understand that this is all kind of weird, I really do, so nobody could hold it against you for opting out.”

Strangely, something in Tommy seemed to unclench at those words. Having the reassurance that this was his choice, that he had the freedom to refuse and that his decision would be respected, lifted a weight from his chest that Tommy hadn’t fully realized had been present in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help himself. Tommy looked at Tubbo, slightly curious and apprehensive to see the brunet’s own reaction. After all, wasn’t it Tubbo’s idea to come here? And wasn’t Tubbo the person who, aside from Tommy himself, was the most desperate to unlock Tommy’s memories?

Would he really be okay if Tommy chose not to take this opportunity?

All of these fears vanished the moment that Tommy saw Tubbo’s expression, which was open and encouraging as he nodded along with Ranboo’s statement. He met Tommy’s questioning gaze and smiled, not saying a word. Tommy still understood him perfectly.

“I do not _opt out_ , Ranboo, as I am both the bravest and biggest man on the face of this planet and therefore have never experienced fear before in my life.” He declared, finding it much easier to grin at Ranboo now. “What’s a little blood between friends, ey?”

Ranboo laughed, appearing a little delighted at being indirectly labeled as a friend, and returned Tommy’s smile.

“Alright then! Let’s get this show on the road!”

Carefully, he pressed his claw against the pad of Tommy’s finger; a beat passed, and then Tommy felt a prick and a little flash of pain that was gone almost before he could register the sensation at all. He watched as blood began to bead on his finger, but Ranboo quickly guided his hand down to the journal. It should have been a bit of a stretch across the table, but with the sheer length of his arms Ranboo managed with ease. He pressed Tommy’s bleeding finger to the top-left corner of the page before withdrawing, nodding approvingly when Tommy didn’t move.

“Okay, Tommy, that’s a great start. Now, do you see this bowl of water here?” Ranboo asked, gesturing at said bowl still positioned in the middle of the table.

“Yeah…?”

“That’s great, Tommy. What I need you to do now is to just focus on the water. I know, it seems a little silly, but just take a moment and look.”

Scrunching his nose, Tommy did as Ranboo asked. He stared at the still surface of the liquid; the bowl itself was wide and a bit shallow, made out of a smooth black stone that gleamed in the flickering light of the candles. This caused the water inside to appear black as well, and the more he stared the deeper it seemed to reach, its depths inscrutable and hidden in shadow.

“Do you see how deep that water goes, Tommy?” Ranboo asked quietly. “Do you see how calm it is? How nice and cool it might feel if you were to dip your hand in?”

“Yeah, I… I do. I see it.” Tommy responded almost reflexively, eyes trained firmly on the water. It really did look refreshing, didn’t it? It was so clear and so still, and he felt a wave of tranquility wash over him as if he had taken a plunge into the water himself.

“It goes down pretty deep, doesn’t it, Tommy? There could be all sorts of things hiding down there, if you swam down far enough. What do you think you might find?” The low hum of Ranboo’s voice curled around Tommy’s mind, as pervasive and tangible as the feeling of static now overtaking his body. He imagined himself swimming down, down, down into the water, holding his breath as he did so.

“You could find a lot of different things, Tommy, but what I think you see in the water is a door. It’s not strange at all to see this door, though, is it? No, it’s not strange. In fact, I think it’s familiar. You know this door, Tommy; you know that it’s yours, and you know that it’s unlocked.”

Yes, he could see the door. There it was in front of him, just the right height and size for a tall and lanky teenager to amble through. The knob taunted him, emitting a soft red glow that practically dared him to use it and venture into the unknown.

“Open the door, Tommy.”

The metal of the doorknob seared into the flesh of his hand, so cold it felt like it was burning him, but Tommy pushed on anyway.

He walked in, and the door swung closed behind him.

* * *

Tommy found himself in a large, open hall, blinking at the abrupt change from darkness to the light now streaming in from the tall windows lining the upper walls. The floor under his feet resembled a sort of checkerboard, alternating between neatly organized squares of light and dark wood. The circumference of the hall was lined with expertly hewn slabs of dark turquoise stone; the same stone also lined the two double staircases dominating the center of the room, spiraling up in a graceful curve. Tommy saw that they led up to a wide landing that stretched on farther than he could see from his current location.

Normally Tommy would be much more panicked after finding himself magically transported to some random mansion, but for whatever reason he couldn’t bring himself to question it. This place, with its warm light and the soft flakes of snow that he could see through the clear glass of the windows, felt familiar. It felt safe.

It felt like home.

As if he was in a dream, Tommy felt himself walk to the twin staircases where he began to climb, step after step, until he reached the second floor. From there, it was like his body instinctively knew where to go. He drifted down hallway after hallway, feet sinking into the plush carpet lining each corridor. He saw various portraits hanging on the walls, but every time he tried to take a closer look at one it was like the paint liquified and swirled together until its content was just a colorful blur.

He continued on in this fashion until he saw that near the end of one hall was the biggest painting yet. It hung in a gilded frame, golden and sturdy and practically the embodiment of opulence. Tommy, however, was much more interested in the four figures occupying the canvas.

There was a chair (well, more of a throne, really) in the center, and in that chair was a man. His chin length blond hair matched the stubble on his jaw, and a pair of sharp but kind blue eyes seemed to bore into Tommy’s own. He seemed comfortable in the throne, clad in a costly uniform of light blues and whites and reds, leaning slightly against an armrest with his sandaled feet braced firmly on the ground. Still, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to sit without crushing the large, feathered wings sprouting from his back, graceful and gray and magnificent.

On either side of the man were two other men, both tall but otherwise very different. The man on the left was physically imposing, all broad shoulders and a wide chest hidden by a silken white shirt, an elegant, ruffled jabot pinned at his throat. A cape draped over one shoulder and was pushed behind the other, a gleaming gold chain connecting both halves across the man’s chest and contrasting nicely with the white fur trimming of the garment. Most striking of all, however, was the pink hair confined in a braid, as well as the tusks sprouting up from behind his lower lip. Strangely, Tommy didn’t question this. Why would he? The sight seemed perfectly normal to him.

The other man was significantly leaner, with one pale hand resting on the throne’s high back and the other hidden behind his body. His riotous mess of dark curls fell over his forehead, partially obscuring the large, round glasses dominating most of his face. His attire was very similar to the rest of the painting’s occupants, made of rich fabrics and consisting of a similar color palette. While the pink-haired man had a very neutral expression, this one had a smirk tugging at his lips, and somehow the painter had captured the mischievous gleam in his eyes. Both men on either side of the throne seemed entirely comfortable to be there, dressed in their finery and commanding the positions on either side of this throne.

Finally, Tommy’s gaze fell to the last person in the portrait. He was seated at the foot of the throne, lounging comfortably on the ground in a careless sprawl, clad in the same uniform as the other three men with a short cape lying askew on his thin shoulders. His messy blond hair was just as unruly as the brunet’s, but his blue eyes were the spitting image of the winged man seated in the throne. His teeth were bared in a grin, confident and assured and completely indicative of a well-practiced troublemaker. In one hand he clutched something small and golden; with the angle that it was held at he couldn’t quite tell what it was, but on the back there was some faint lettering partially blocked by the boy’s fingers: __o_r T_bb__ , it said.

Tommy knew this person.

It was him.

* * *

_“Give Henry back, W___!” He shouted, jumping and fruitlessly clawing at the little stuffed cow held above his head. The taller boy just laughed, barely staggering under his flailing hands. “C’mon then, Toms, just a bit higher! Don’t you always claim to be a big, strong man?”_

_“I am!” He howled, leaping up once more only for the cow to be hoisted higher into the air. With a grunt, he landed back on the ground, nearly falling over before steadying himself just in time. Tommy glowered up at the other before he got an idea, and he quickly slammed into the boy’s knobby knees with all the force his scrawny body could muster. The taller boy grunted, arms pinwheeling as he went crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, the little cow was snatched out of his hand._

_“I told you!” Tommy crowed triumphantly, arms and cow held aloft in victory. “I am massive! I’m the strongest man in this entire castle!”_

_“Oh, is that so?” A monotone voice rang out from behind Tommy, the only warning he got before he was swept off of his feet and slung over a sturdy shoulder. “Y’know, I find that a little hard to believe myself.”_

_“W-Wha-? T___, put me DOWN!” He stuttered, beating a little fist against the new arrival’s back. It didn’t seem to do any effective damage, but his captor still let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. As Tommy flailed, the boy on the ground started laughing again. “Good one, T___! Show that little gremlin who’s boss!”_

_“Mmm, I don’t think Tommy’s the only one needin’ a reminder here, W___.”_

_The laughter cut off abruptly at this statement._

_“Oh, erm, I’m not quite sure what you…? No, no, NO, T____ DON’T-!”_

_Tommy started giggling as T___ pounced, and in just a few short moments he had gained W___ as a shoulder buddy. The other boy did his best to maintain an irritated façade, but before long his own laughter started up again. T___ didn’t quite laugh, but from their perches on his shoulders they could feel him shaking with restrained mirth._

_Tommy loved his brothers._

_“Boys!” Someone called from down the hall. “C’mon, you lot, it’s time for your sparring lessons!”_

_“Coming, Dad!” They shouted in unison, and T___ set off down the hall with his two brothers slung over his shoulders, undaunted by the way that they had started swatting at each other around his back._

_With laughter filling the hall and clear light streaming in from the windows, Tommy felt a sense of deep, content happiness._

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in that hallway; the faint sound of cheery voices and laughter rang in his ears for a moment before it completely melted away, leaving him standing in a heavy silence.

This corridor was not made of the same warm, polished wood as the others, nor was it illuminated by torches hanging from their brackets along the wall. There were no windows, either, just cold, grey stone blanketed in sooty shadows.

The shadows at the end of the corridor, however, were not natural. He knew this in his bones. They formed a large, solid wall that seemed to meld seamlessly with both walls, the floor, and the ceiling, completely blocking off the end of the hall. The longer that Tommy looked at them, the more they seemed to move, writhing softly in their entangled mass but never breaking completely away from the barricade of darkness.

Instinctively, Tommy knew that this was the barrier that had long since hidden his memories. However, it felt like his feet were frozen to the floor. The sight of the actual barrier itself was significantly more intimidating than Tommy had expected, and he faltered at the thought of walking up to those shadows and doing- well, what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

Even as he began to doubt himself, a little voice that sounded eerily like Ranboo piped up inside his head.

_“You have control of your mind.”_ Ranboo had said, just before Tommy had dived down into his subconscious. And of course he had control here. This was _his_ mind, and those were _his_ memories, and he wanted those fucking shadows _obliterated_.

“I don’t know how you got in here and I don’t think I give a shit.” Tommy addressed the shadows, taking one step, and then another, and then another, advancing on the writhing barrier as he spoke. “This is _my mind_ , bitch, and I’m telling you to get the fuck out!”

He fairly screamed the last few words before launching himself at the barricade, fully intending to tear away and claw it down with his own two hands- but the moment that his hand made contact with the barrier, he felt a rush of profound and spine-chilling fear overcome him as the shadows encased first his hand, and then his arm, and then-

The shadows engulfed him.

* * *

_Smoke and soot hung in the air, heavy and smothering and tasting horrifyingly of the ashes of his burning home. He fought for breath, choking on a horrible, rattling cough as he desperately scanned the war-torn fields. Where was everyone? Where was Tubbo, where were his brothers?_

_How had everything gone so wrong?_

_Somehow he was still holding his sword despite his numbed fingers, but its familiar weight didn’t bring him the same comfort as it used to, back when this was all a game and the Pantheon fought not for power and land but for camaraderie and fun. He wiped the back of his soot-covered hand across his cheek and it came away streaked with sweat and the familiar sight of blood._

_He had to find the others._

_“Tommy.”_

_He spun sharply, staggering at the sudden head rush and bracing himself with his sword. Part of him hoped that it had been Tubbo or T___ (in this moment he’d even be happy to see W___, as strange and wrong he’d been acting lately), but even then he knew it was just wishful thinking. That voice belonged to someone else entirely._

_But when he turned, there was no one there. Just more smoke and barren land and the distant sound of screams carried on the sour breeze._

_A hand landed on his shoulder and **squeezed**_.

_“Tommy.” The voice said again, tinged with a sickening note of amusement. “You know the drill: drop your things in the hole.”_

_‘What hole?’ Tommy wanted to ask, but he needn’t have bothered in the first place, because there was the hole, opening up into a yawning, dark pit just in front of him. He was frozen under the weight of the hand that gently, tenderly, shoved the boy forward._

_As weightlessness overtook him, Tommy twisted mid-air for one more glance at the world above. The last thing that he saw before his eyes slid shut was firelight glinting off two round, dark objects, held aloft by a figure with a grotesquely innocent smile._

_Tommy fell into the dark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found some free time and decided to update again! I actually had to cut this chapter because I just couldn’t find a neat way to tie it up lol. At least that means I have a bit of the next chapter already written though!
> 
> Also, if any of y’all are in the U.S., I hope you’re staying warm and safe if you’re in an area being impacted by the snow and ice rn!

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end, thanks so much! I have no idea how long this might end up being, but I’ll just keep trucking along and see where it goes. Also: I’m not super familiar with everyone on the SMP, especially the newer players as things have gotten really convoluted and busy plot-wise, so there’s a chance that I won’t be able to include absolutely everyone :(

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [dig me a boneyard in a field of daffodils](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301978) by [07JoeTheBastardo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/07JoeTheBastardo/pseuds/07JoeTheBastardo)
  * [déjà vu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484297) by [MinRosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinRosie/pseuds/MinRosie)




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